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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



WILSON'S 
BOOK OF RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

WITH INSTRUCTIONS IN 

ELOCUTION AND DECLAMATION. 

CONTAINING A CHOICE SELECTION OF 

POETICAL AND PROSE RECITATIONS 
AND ORIGINAL COLLOQUIES. 

DESIGNED AS A 



READING BOOK FOR CLASSES; AND AS AN ASSISTANT TO 

TEACHERS AND STUDENTS IN PREPARING 

EXHIBITIONS. 



J- 

By FLOYD B. WILSON, 

TEACHES OF ELOCUTION. 




A 



NEW YORK: 

DICK & FITZGERALD, PUBLISHERS. 






Entered according to act of Congress in the year 1868, 

By DICK & FITZGERALD, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 

Southern District of New York. 



PEEFAGE. 



But few words are necessary as introductory to this brief 
manual. It is offered to the student as an assistant and 
guide in the study of Reading and Elocution. A full analy- 
sis of tones of voice is given, and a carefully prepared 
chart. The rules are exceedingly brief and to the point. 
To all students we can but say this : The art of Elocution 
is within your reach; barriers may seemingly rise before 
you, but you can surmount them ; do not be in haste ; 
master thoroughly the principles laid down in the first 
few pages, then with care study each selection, and you 
will succeed. 

The Colloquies, which are original, appear now for the 
first time. The selections have been collated with special 
regard to freshness of matter and adaptability to the design 
of the work. 

"We now place this volume in your hands, with the hope 
that it may be the means of rendering the subject of Elocu- 
tion more attractive ; and that all may be encouraged to 
cultivate those great gifts of God to man, Yoice and Action. 

3 



CONTENTS. 



INSTRUCTION IN ELOCUTION AND DECLAMATION- page. 

Analysis of Principles 7 

Position 7 

Breathing 7 

Embarrassment 7 

Stammering- 8 

Enunciation 8 

Voice 11 

Emphasis 13 

Stress 13 

Pitch, Time, Slide U 

Pauses, Grammatical and Rhetorical It 

Position, Action, Gesture It 

Expression 15 

Personation 15 

Interjections, .the 15 

Exercises 16 

Hints to Teachers 17 

RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES— 

Address at the Dedication of the Cemetery at Gettysburg 19 

Sheridan's Ride 20 

There's but One Pair of Stockings to Mend To-night 21 

Modulation 24 

The Drummer Boy's Burial 25 

The Pilot 27 

The Soldiers' Return. A Colloquy 29 

Burial of the Champion of his Class at Yale College 37 

Scott and the Veteran 38 

Barbara Frietchie 40 

I wouldn't— Would You ! 42 

The Professor Puzzled. A Colloquy 41 

Thanatopsis 4S 

The Two Roads .' 50 

The Pawnbroker's Shop 51 

The Sophomore's Soliloquy 53 

The Nation's Hymn 54 

Address to a Skeleton 50 

A Glass of Cold "Water 57 

New Years' Eve 5S 

The Song of Sherman's Army CI 

The Sea Captain's Story 63 

5 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Our Heroes 65 

The Closing Year 66 

Burial of Little Nell 69 

The Picket-Guard 74 

The Poor Man and the Fiend 75 

Our Country's Call 77 

The Orphan's Triumph. A Colloquy 79 

Poem Read at the Founding of Gettysburg Monument 89 

Spartacus to the Gladiators 94 

Soliloquy of the Dying Alchemist 96 

Reconstruction. A Colloquy 100 

Unjust National Acquisition 102 

Dimes and Dollars 105 

The Dead Drummer-Boy 107 

Home 103 

Responsibility of American Citizens 110 

The Smack in School 112 

Left on the Battle-Field 113 

The American Flag 1 14 

Oh ! Why Should the Spirit of Mortal be Proud 1 116 

Parrhasius 118 

The Vagabonds 121 

A Bridal Wine-Cup 124 

Blanche of Devan's Last Words 127 

Widow Bedott to Elder Sniffles 128 

A Psalm of the L^nion 129 

Charge of a Dutch Magistrate 130 

Stars in My Country's Sky 131 

Bingen on the Rhine 132 

The Religious Character of President Lincoln 134 

The Raven 136 

The Loyal Legion 140 

Agnes and the Years 144 

Catiline's Defiance 1 46 

The Perils of Loyalty. A Colloquy 147 

Claude Melnotte's Apology and Defence 164 

The Forging of the Anchor 1G8 

The Wreck of the Hesperus 1G8 

The Man of Ross 171 

No Work the Hardest Work 172 

What is Time ? 174 

Brutus's Oration over the Body of Lucretia 175 

What is That, Mother ? 177 

A Colloquy With Myself 178 

Saint Philip Neri and the Youth ISO 

The Chameleon 181 

Henry the Fourth's Soliloquy o . Sleep 183 

On Procrastination 181 

The Flag of Washington 185 



INSTEUCTION IN 

ELOCUTION" AKD DECLAMATION. 



ANALYSIS OF PRINCIPLES. 

" Elocution includes the whole theory and practice of the 
principles which govern the outward exhibition of the in- 
ward workings of the mind." 

POSITION. 

In standing or sitting, the person should be erect ; the 
shoulders well thrown back, weight resting mainly on either 
right or left foot, when standing. Be perfectly free and 
easy in your position, let no part of the body be contracted 
in any manner. 

BREATHING. 

Daily practice of deep breathing develops the power of the 
lungs and the volume of the voice. Always breathe through 
the nose. Place thumbs upon abdomen, throw the shoulders 
back, inhale long breath, exhale, placing the lips so as to 
form element "o." Change position and again continue the 
practice. 

It has been decided by physicians that more cases of hoarse- 
ness, pulmonary consumption, etc., come from improper 
breathing than all other causes combined. Too much stress 
cannot be placed upon the above exercise. 

EMBARRASSMENT. 

Embarrassment ever presents itself as the first barrier to 
the young reader. Several causes may produce it ; yet the 



8 ELOCUTION AND DECLAMATION. 

chief cause is improper use of the breathing apparatus. The 
moment before a person is about to read or speak, he fre- 
quently works himself into a sort of an excitement, and takes 
short and quick breaths. A few moments after he begins to 
road, he overcomes this ; yet a blunder on the first sentence 
often causes a total failure. A calm, modest, yet command- 
ing bearing carries with it a world of weight i To overcome 
embarrassment, keep in mind this simple rule, Inhale and ex- 
hale four long breaths just before you attempt to speak or read. 
Hundreds of my students will attest its value ; the causes 
are cited above. 

STAMMERING. 

Stammering may result from several causes. There may 
be some defect in the organs of speech ; such being the case, 
physicans have pronounced it incurable. It generally re- 
sults from embarrassment and haste. We would follow the 
same principle as in embarrassment, simply : Divide the 
attention, and the stammerer is cured. Those that stammer 
sing with ease. Take a person that stammers, request him 
to strike his hand on table, book, or something, and count 
with you ; next let him speak words instead of counting and 
he will not stammer. By beating time when he speaks, his 
attention is divided, and soon stammering, which is habit in 
nine cases out of ten, will be completely cured. 

ENUNCIATION. 

Much has been said and written on the culture of the hu- 
man voice, and in a brief treatise like this we do not propose 
to enter into a full consideration of the breathing and vocal 
apparatus. We would refer the student to "Rush on the 
Human Voice." We will confine our remarks mainly to the 
exposition of principles that will work results. 

Yoice comes to us like other of God's gifts, not perfect. 
We lisp before we speak ; yet men in this practical world 
ofttimes regard this gift as perfect and complete in itself, not 
a talent to be cultivated and developed by proper study. 



ELOCUTION AND DECLAMATION. y 

History has told us repeatedly, that men are not born ora- 
tors. By long and continued study have they attained emi- 
nence. 

A clear and distinct utterance, a full and deep tone con- 
stitute the basis of all good reading. Each element, each 
syllable, each word should have its due proportion of sound. 
To cultivate clearness, practise daily upon the vowel 
sounds. Give the sound both low and high, loud and soft, 
deep and aspirated. Follow this practice with certain com- 
binations of consonants that you have found difficult to 
enunciate ; then syllables, words, and finally sentences. 

The vowel sounds are given below for individual or class 
practice. 

A, long, as in ale, fate, gray. 

A, slwrt, as in add, fat, have. 

A, Italian, as in arm, father, palm. 

A, broad, as in all, talk, swarm. 

A, as in ask, class, grass. 

A, as in fare, dare, air. 

E, long, as in me, mete, peace. 
E, s?iort, as in met, end, check. 
E, like a, as in ere, there, heir. 
I, long, as in ice, fine, mire. 
I, short, as in ill, it, fin. 
O, long, as in old, note, loaf. 
O, short, as in odd, not, torrid. 
O, like long oo, as in move, do, tomb. 
U, long, as in use, tube, lute. 
U, short, as in us, tub, but. 
U, like short oo, as in pull, push, put. 
Oi, as in oil, join, moist. 
Ou, as in out, hound, thou. 
A few of the consonants are given below, they should bo 
treated, in the practice, as the vowels in the preceding table : 

B, as in bat, bag, but. 
D, as in dun, did, need. 



10 ELOCUTION AND DECLAMATION. 

F, as in fit, fame, fife. 

L, as in let, bell, knell. 

M, as in man, drum, rum. 

N, as in nun, nay, wind. 

Ng, as in song, ring, king. 

E,, as in rap, run, round. 

Th, as in thine, thus, beneath. 

Z, as in zeal, maze, was. 

Zh, as in vision, leisure, azure. 

Sh, as in shun, shade, sash. 

Other of the vowel or consonants sounds may be given and 
practised, if the teacher or pupil find it necessary. Particu- 
lar attention should be given to the sounds of long e and a, 
broad a and long o, which is one of the clearest sounds in the 
language. Of the consonants m, n, and I are remarkable for 
their musical sound. Drum, wind, and bell are fine examples 
to illustrate. Dwell upon these elements in enunciating the 
word. 

Master these elements and you will have advanced a step 
in the cultivation of the voice. 

A few words frequently mispronounced, and a few test 
sentences are given below. 

"What, when ; banishment, punishment, government ; and, 
command ; real, ideal ; last, past ; poem ; exhausted ; idea ; 
aye ; lexicon, Creator, orator ; brightness, fondness ; home ; 
bell, wind, drum ; rapping ; personification, valetudinarian, 
congratulation, intercommunication. 

.(1.) " Eound the rude ring the ragged rascals ran." 

(2.) " The wild beasts struggled through the thickest 
shade." 

(3.) "The swinging swain swiftly swept the swinging 
sweep." 

(4.) " The stripling stranger strayed through the strug- 
gling stream." 

(5.) " Up the hill he heaves the huge round stone." 

These words and sentences should first be pronounced by 
the teacher ; and then simultaneously by the class, as a con- 



ELOCUTION AND DECLAMATION. 11 

cert exercise, at first slowly, then more and more rapidly. 
By this means the most timid will be relieved of embarrass- 
ment. 

The tone, time, and pitch are ever changing. Monotone 
means not only one tone, but a corresponding sameness or 
oneness of time and pitch. Some selections require the mon- 
otone, but it is chiefly confined to solemn discourse. 

VOICE. 

Yoice is an audible sound made by the breath. No sound 
can be made without breath, no full and clear sound, unless 
the lungs be properly inflated. 

We have two divisions of tone, which may be denominated 
the Pure and the Impure. 

The Pure tone is where all the breath is vocalized. 

The Impure tone is where all the breath is not vocalized. 

There are several subdivisions that we give below, in the 
form of a chart. By study a clear conception of all the 
tones can be learned from it. The Orotund is simply deeper 
and fuller than the Pure. 

f Pure, j| ffUS \ Ve - 

Pure. \ (or unemotional). j^^ 

Orotund. \ -™ -, . 

^ ( Jbxpulsive. 

C Guttural. 

Impure. « Aspirate. 

/ Tremor. 

The Pure effusive stress might be compared to the so- 
prano in singing. Pure expulsive to the alto. Orotund 
effusive to the tenor ; and the Orotund expulsive to the 
bass. The quality of the voice is quite clearly indicated in 
the names of the other tones. No work on this topic can 
supply the place of a living teacher. We cite a few examples 
for a drill exercise on the qualities of the voice. 

Pure ^ effusive : 

" I really take it very kind — 
This visit, Mrs. Skinner, 



12 ELOCUTION AND DECLAMATION. 

I liave not seen you for an age — 
(The wretch has come to dinner !") 

Pure, expulsive : 

11 Then his voice grew low and faltering ; slowly came each 
painful breath ; 
Two brave forms laid side by side, then death had loved a 

shining mark ; 
And two sad mothers say, ■ It has grown dark, ah, very 
dark!' 1 ' 

Orotund, effusive : 

(1.) " I go ; but not to leap the gulf alone." 
(2.) " By all the fiery stars ! I'd bind it on ! " 

Orotund, expulsive : 

(1.) Charge, soldiers, charge ! ". 

(2.) " I know not what course others may take, but, as for 
me, give me liberty, or give me death." 

Guttural : 

(1.) " And there are times when, mad with thinking, 
I'd sell out Heaven for something warm, 
To prop a horrible inward sinking." 
(2.) " I hate him, for he is a Christian." 

Aspirate : 

(1.) " Hush ! hark ! A deep sound strikes like a rising knell ! " 
(2.) '-'Listen! I heard a footstep, no ! 'tis gone." 

Tremor : 

(1.) <c Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, 

Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door." 
(2.) " The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, 

And all we know, or dream, or fear, 

Of agony are thine." 

These examples will serve to give the student a clear idea 
of " tones ;" numerous selections will be found in Part Second 
for class drill and practice. Some simple sentence might be 
selected by the teacher to be recited by the whole class in all 
the various tones. This will be found a valuable exercise. 
" Come one, come all " — is well adapted for such an exercise. 



ELOCUTION AND DECLAMATION. 13 

It is very seldom that a whole selection is read in one tone 
of voice throughout. The ear would tire, were this the case ; 
and the most interesting subject would lose all interest. The 
student must decide, to a great extent, what tone should be 
used. Cultivate the low and deep tones, the expulsive pure 
and orotund. Deep breathing will be found very beneficial 
to the cultivation of these tones. The aspirate has a power 
that at times cannot be overestimated. In the sentence, 
M He knew me, smiled faintly, gasped, and died M — the word 
" gasped " should be given in the full aspirate, and the word 
" died " in what might be termed a mingling of the aspirate 
and tremor. 

The guttural is used extensively in expressions of denun- 
ciation, revenge, etc. 'Tis a very unpleasant tone ; and the 
throat may be exceedingly injured by long and continued 
practice. In the character of Shy lock in the " Merchant of 
Venice/' this tone is chiefly used. 

From these brief remarks, we think that by a little thought, 
the qualities of voice may be clearly understood, and proper- 
ly applied. 

EMPHASIS. 

Of this and many other important elements our space will 
force us to be very brief. Take this single rule : The most 
important icord is the most emphatic. Study the selection 
thoroughly, fully understand the author, and this simple 
rule will ever be found a correct guide. 

STKESS f 

Experience has taught us that readers fail oftener upon 
this than emphasis. Prof. Alurdock has defined stress as 
the effusive, expulsive, explosive. The effusive is the unemo- 
tional or most natural ; the expulsive is where the element is 
dwelled upon ; the explosive is where the element is ex- 
ploded, it may be compared to the cracking of a whip. Be sure 
you give a word its proper stress ; though you throw extra 



14 ELOCUTION AND DECLAMATION. 

force upon an emphatic word, you fail unless you give that 
word its proper stress. 

PITCH, TIME, SLIDE. 

Good readers do not pitch their voice as high as poor ones, 
nor do they read as rapidly as poor ones. Guard against 
these two errors. In any sentence where a doubt is indicated 
use the 7"ising slide, in other cases the falling. When in doubt 
concerning which should be used, always use the downward 
slide. 

GRAMMATICAL AND RHETORICAL PAUSES. 

No definite idea can be formed of the exact length of 
pauses. The reader must be governed wholly by the style 
of the selection. The rhetorical pause has a power that all 
public speakers and readers soon learn. We give this one 
general rule. Before every important word or sentence, make a 
pause. Silence always commands attention ; having gained 
that, the word or sentence will fall with double weight. 

POSITION, ACTION, GESTURE. 

Gesture can be taught, and can be learned. History has 
confirmed this assertion many times. Nor will a person's 
gestures be necessarily mechanical, because he has attained 
the elements of true grace and action by studying the best 
models. One might as reasonably argue that the rules of 
grammar and rhetoric tend to crample a man's language, 
as that taught gestures tend to promote stiffness and man- 
nerism. Gesture can be learned by careful study and prac- 
tice ; yet I would state here that gesture must he natural, and 
consistent throughout. 

Let the position be erect, the eyes not set, nor elevated too 
much, and the body kept firm. Guard against making too 
many gestures ; and though enthusiasm is the great secret of 
success, be not carried away with it. One gesture marks one 
idea. The palm of the hand should generally be turned 



ELOCUTION AND DECLAMATION. 15 

toward the audience. The hand should leave the body more 
closed than when it strikes the position Avoid all angular 
movements, ever keep a circle in mind. At times, the hand 
may be placed on certain parts of the body to mark impor- 
tant thoughts. There is a power, a beauty, in gesture. Cul- 
tivate it and learn its mighty force. 

EXPRESSION. 

The countenance is the index of the mind. Horace has 
said, " Nature forms us first within to all the outward cir- 
cumstances of fortune." The thought should be expressed 
upon the countenance ere the words are spoken. Certain 
attitudes may be assumed at times to more fully express the 
idea. 

PERSONATION. 

The importance of personation is ofttimes overlooked. It 
forms a leading feature in all critical reading. You must 
first clearly understand the character you wish to personate ; 
then you must study the peculiarities of such a character ; 
and your work, then, is to imitate true to life. Action, which 
includes position, gesture and expression, forms an important 
element in personation. Numerous examples in personation 
will be found under Part Second, so we will cite none here. 

THE INTERJECTION. 

The interjection indicates a sigh, groan, surprise, fear, or 
some sudden emotion of the mind. It is not necessary 
always to give the sound indicated by the letters expressed. 
Simply a sigh generally expresses what the writer intends 
to convey by the words, Oh I and Ah ! yet in some cases a 
scream should be given. 

"We cite a few sentences below for class and individual 
practice. They form a fine elocutionary drill for concert 
exercises. We leave the student to determine the emphatic 
words, the slide, and the tones of voice. 



16 ELOCUTION AND DECLAMATION. 

EXERCISES. 

(1.) " The glad cry of victory, cheer upon cheer." 
(2.) " Here sleeps he now alone." 
(3.) " I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him." 
(4.) " Have you forgotten, General," the battered soldier cried, 
The days of eighteen hundred twelve, when I was at your 
side." 
(5.) " Tell father when he comes from work, I said good night to 
him." 

(6.) " And hark ! the deep voices replying 

From the graves where your fathers are lying : 
1 Swear ! Oh ! swear !' " 

(7.) " I will not, must not, dare not grant your wish." 

(8.) " In those days came John the Baptist, preaching in the wil- 
derness of Judea, and saying : ' Repent ye, for the Kingdom of 
Heaven is at hand.' " 

(9.) "I would uncover the breathless corpse of Hamilton ; I 
would take from his wound the bloody mantle, and would hold it 
up to Heaven before them ; and I would ask — in the name of God 
I would ask, whether, at sight of it, they felt no compunction." 

(10.) " Signor Antonio, many a time and oft, 
In the Rialto you have rated me 
About my moneys and my usances." 

(11.) " Grant me but one day — an hour." 

(12.) " Sink or swim, live or die, I am for the declaration." 
' (13.) " See how the timbers crash beneath his feet ! 
0, which way now is left for his retreat % " 

TRUE ELOQUENCE. -Webster. 

(14.) When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous oc- 
casions, when great interests are at stake, and strong passions are 
excited, nothing is valuable, in speech, farther than it is connected 
with high, intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness, force, 
and earnestness, are the qualities which produce conviction. True 
eloquence indeed does not consist in speech. It cannot be brought 
from far. Labor and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in 



ELOCUTION AND DECLAMATION. 17 

vain. Worcb and phrases may be marshalled in every way, but 
they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, 
and in the occasion. 
Subdued Example, 

(15.) " If you're waking, call me early, call me early, mother 
dear, 
For I would see the sun rise upon the glad New- Year, 
It is the last New- Year that I shall ever see, 
Then you may lay me low in the mould and think no more of me. 
To-night I saw the sun set ! he set and left behind 
The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind, 
And the New- Year's coming up, mother, but I shall never see 
The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree." 

From the Merchant of Venice. 

(16.) Portia. Do you confess the bond 1 

Antonio. I do. 

Portia. Then must the Jew be merciful. 

Shylock. On what compulsion must I ? Tell me that. 

Portia. The quality of mercy is not strained, 

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath : it is twice bless'd ; 
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes ; 
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest : it becomes 
The throned monarch better than his crown ; 
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings ; 
It is an attribute to God himself, 
And earthly power doth then show likest God's 
When mercy seasons justice." 

HINTS TO TEACHEES. 

To be successful in teaching elocution, one must be able 
to throw life and enthusiasm in the class. This can be 
reached by no better means than through the medium of 
concert exercises. These will inspire confidence, and by this 
means, will the teacher succeed in bringing out the voices of 
the class. Too great an amount of matter is frequently 
passed over by classes. " Sparticus " will alone afford any 
class material for several weeks' study. Yet classes need 



18 ELOCUTION AND DECLAMATION. 

variety ; a vrhole recitation should never be spent on a single 
selection. The sentences given at the close of the introduc- 
tion will aid the teacher in securing variety. Other direc- 
tions will be found under the head of " Yoice," " Embarrass- 
ment," " Action," etc. 

Concerning the study of colloquies, this thought should 
be borne in mind by the student : that he must forget self 
and live for the time in that character. Too great stress 
cannot be placed upon action and position in producing 
colloquies on the stage at school exhibitions. 



RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 



ADDEESS AT THE DEDICATION OF THE 
CEilETEEY AT GETTYSBUEG. 

A. LINCOLN, NOV. 1864. 

Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth 
upon this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and 
dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. 
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether 
that nation, or any nation, so conceived and so dedicated, 
can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that 
war. We are met to dedicate a portion of it as the final 
resting-place of those who here gave their lives that that 
nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that 
we should do this. But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, 
we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The 
brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have con- 
secrated it far above our power to add or detract. The world 
will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it 
can never forget what they did here. It is for us, the living, . 
rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work they have 
thus far so nobly carried on. It is rather for us to be here 
dedicated to the great task remaining before us, that from 
these honored dead we take increased devotion to the cause 
for which they gave the last full measure of devotion ; that 
we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died 
in vain, that the nation shall, under God, have a new birth 
of freedom, and that the government of the people, by the 
people, and for the people, shall not perish from the earth. 
19 



20 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 



SHERIDAN'S RIDE. 

THOMAS BUCHANAN HEAD. 

Up from the South at break of clay, 

Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, 

The affrighted air with a shudder bore, 

Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door, 

The terrible grumble and rumble and roar, 

Telling the battle was on once more, 

And Sheridan twenty miles away. 

And wider still those billows of war 

Thundered along the horizon's bar, 

And louder yet into Winchester rolled 

The roar of that red sea uncontrolled, 

Making the blood of the listener cold 

As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, 

With Sheridan twenty miles away. 

But there is a road from Winchester town, 

A good, broad highway leading down ; 

And there through the flash of the morning light, 

A steed as black as the steeds of night, 

Was seen to pass as with eagle flight — 

As if he knew the terrible need, 

He stretched away with the utmost speed ; 

Hills rose and fell — but his heart was gay, 

With Sheridan fifteen miles away. 

Still sprung from those swift hoofs thundering south, 
The dust, like the smoke from the cannon's mouth, 
Or the trail of a comet sweeping faster and faster, 
Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster ; 
The heart of the steed and the heart of the master 
Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls, 
Impatient to be where the battle-field calls ; 
Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, 
With Sheridan only ten miles away. 



BUT ONE PAIR OF STOCKINGS TO MEND. 21 

Under his spuming feet the road 

Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, 

And the landscape sped away behind 

Like an ocean flying before the wind ; 

And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, 

Swept on with his wild eyes full of ^re ; 

But, lo ! he is Hearing his heart's desire, 

He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, 

With? Sheridan only five miles away. 

The first that the General saw were the groups 
Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops ; 
What was done — what to do — a glance told him both, 
And striking his spurs with a terrible oath, 
He dashed down the line 'mid a storm of huzzahs, 
And the wave of retreat checked its course there because 
The sight of the master compelled it to pause. 
. With^foam and with dust the black charger was gray, 
By the flash of his eye, and* his nostril's play 
He seemed to the whole great army to say, < 

" 1 have brought you Sheridan all the way 
From Winchester, down to save the day ! " 

Hurrah, hurrah for Sheridan ! 
Hurrah, hurrah for horse and man ! 
And when their statues are placed on high, 
Under the dome of the Union sky, — 
The American soldier's Temple of Fame, — 
There with the glorious General's name 
Be it said in letters both bold and bright : 
" Here is the steed that saved the day 
By earring Sheridan into the fight, 
From Winchester — twenty miles away ! n 



THEKE'S BUT ONE PAIE OF STOCKINGS TO 
MEND TO-NIGHT. 

An old wife sat by her bright fireside, 
Swaying thoughtfully to and fro 



22 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

In an easy chair, whose creaky craw 

Told a tale of long ago ; 
While down by her side, on the kitchen floor, 
Stood a basket of worsted balls — a score. 

The good man dozed o'er the latest news, 

Till the light in his pipe went out ; 
And, unheeded, the kitten with cunning paws 

Rolled and tangled the balls about ; 
Yet still sat the wife in the ancient chair, 
Swaying to and fro in the fire-light glare. 

But anon, a misty tear drop came 

In her eyes of faded blue, 
Then trickled down in a furrow deep 

Like a single drop of dew ; 
So deep was the channel — so silent the stream — 
That the good man saw nought but the dimmed eye beam 

Yet marvelled he much that the cheerful light 

Of her eye had heavy grown, 
And marvelled he more at the tangled balls, 

So he said in a gentle tone — 
" I have shared thy joys since our marriage vow, 
Conceal not from me thy sorrows now." 

Then she spoke of the time when the basket there 

Was filled to the very brim ; 
And now, there remained of the goodly pile 

But a single pair — for him ; 
" Then wonder not at the dimmed eye-light, 
There's but one pair of stockings to mend to-night. 

11 1 cannot but think of the busy feet, 

Whose wrappings were wont to lay 
In the basket, awaiting the needles time — 

Now wandering so far awav ; 



BUT ONE PAIR OF STOCKINGS TO MEND. 23 

How the sprightly steps to a mother dear, 
Unheeded fell on the careless ear. 

" For each empty nook in the basket old 

By the hearth there's a vacant seat ; 
And I miss the shadows from off the wall, 

And the patter of many feet ; 
'Tis for this that a tear gathered over my sight, 
At the one pair of stockings to mend to-night. 

" 'Twas said that far through the forest wild, 

And over the mountains bold, 
Was a land whose rivers and darkening caves 

Were gemmed with the rarest gold ; 
Then my first-born turned from the oaken door — 
And I knew the shadows were only four. 

•'•' Another went forth on the foaming wave, 

And diminished the basket's store ; 
But his feet grew cold — so weary and cold — 

They'll never be warm any more — 
And this nook, in its emptiness, seemeth to me 
To give forth no voice but the moan of the sea. 

" Two others have gone toward the setting sun, 

And made them a home in its light, 
And fairy fingers have taken their share 

To mend by the fire-side bright ; 
Some other basket their garments will fill — 
But mine, mine is emptier still. 

Another — the dearest, the fairest, the best — 

Was taken by angels away, 
And clad in a garment that waxeth not old, 

In a land of continual day ; 
Oh ! wonder no more at the dimmed eye-light, 
When I mend the one pair of stockings to-night." 



24 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

MODULATION. 



'Tis not enough the voice be sound and clear, 
'Tis modulation that must charm the ear. 
When desperate heroes grieve with tedious moan, 
And whine their sorrows in a see-saw tone, 
The same soft sounds of unimpassioned woes 
Can only make the yawning hearers doze. 
The voice all modes of passion can express, 
That marks the proper word with proper stress j 
But none emphatic can that speaker call, 
Who lays an equal emphasis on all. 

Some o'er the tongue the labored measures roD, 
Slow and deliberate as the parting toll ; 
Point every stop, mark every pause so strong — 
Their words like stage processions stalk along. 

All affectation but creates disgust, 
And e'en in speaking, we may seem too just ; 
In vain for them the pleasing measure flows. 
Whose recitation runs it all to prose ; 
Repeating what the poet sets not down, 
The verb disjointing from its favorite noun, 
While pause, and break, and repetition join 
To make a discord in each tuneful line. 

Some placid natures fill the allotted scene 
With lifeless drawls, insipid and serene ; 
While others thunder every couplet o'er, 
And almost crack your ears with rant and roar. 
More nature oft, and finer strokes are shown 
In the low whisper, than tempestuous tone ; 
And Hamlet's hollow voice and fixed amaze 
More powerful terror to the mind conveys 
Than he, who, swollen with impetuous rage, 
Bullies the bulky phantom of the stage. 



THE DRUMMER-BOY'S BURIAL. 25 

He, who in earnest studies o'er his part, 

Will find true nature cling about his heart. 

The modes of grief are not included all 

In the white handkerchief and mournful drawl ; 

A single look' more marks the internal woe 

Than all the windings of the lengthed Oh ! 

Up to the face the quick sensation flies, 

And darts its meaning from the speaking eyes ; 

Love, transport, madness, anger, scorn, despair, 

And all the passions — all the soul is there. 



THE DEUMMEE-BOY'S BURIAL. 

HAEPEES' MAGAZINE. 

All day long the storm of battle through the startled valley swept ; 
All night long the stars in heaven o'er the slain sad vigils kept. 

Oh the ghastly upturned faces gleaming whitely through the night ! 
Oh the heaps of mangled corses in that dim sepulchral light ! 

One by one the pale stars faded, and at length the morning broke ; 
But not one of all the sleepers on that field of death awoke. 

Slowly passed the golden hours of that long bright summer day, 
And upon that field of carnage still the dead unburied lay . 

Lay there stark and cold, but pleading with a dumb, unceasing 

prayer, 
For a little dust to hide them from the staring sun and air. 

But the foeman held possession of that hard-won battle plain, 
In unholy wrath denying even burial to our slain. 

Once again the night dropped round them — night so holy and so 

calm 
That the moonbeams hushed the spirit, like the sound of prayer or 

psalm. 



26 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

On a couch of trampled grasses, just apart from all the rest, 
Lay a fair young boy, with small hands meekly folded on his 
breast. 

Death had touched him very gently, and he lay as if in sleep ; 
Even his mother scarce had shuddered at that slumber calm and 
deep. 

For a smile of wondrous sweetness lent a radiance to the face, 
And the hand of cunning sculptor could have added naught of grace 

To the marble limbs so perfect in their passionless repose, 
Robbed of all save matchless purity by hard, unpitying foes. 

And the broken drum beside him all his life's short story told: 
How he did his duty bravely till the death-tide o'er him rolled. 

Midnight came with ebon garments and a diadem of stars, 
While right upward in the zenith hung the fiery planet Mars. 

Hark ! a sound of stealthy footsteps and of voices whispering low, 
Was it nothing but the young leaves, or the brooklet's murmuring 

flow] 

Clinging closely to each other, striving never to look round 

As they passed with silent shudder the pale corses on the ground. 

Came two little maidens, — sisters, — with a light and hasty tread, 
And a look upon their faces, half of sorrow, half of dread. 

And they did not pause nor falter till, with throbbing hearts, they 

stood 
Where the Drummer- boy was lying in that partial solitude. 

They had brought some simple garments from their wardrobe's 

scanty store, 
And two heavy iron shovels in their slender hands they bore. 

Then they quickly knelt beside him, crushing back the pitying 

tears, 
For they had no time for weeping, nor for any girlish fears. 



THE PILOT. 27 

And they robed the icy body, while no glow of maiden shame 
Changed the pallor of their foreheads to a flush of lambent flame. 

For their saintly hearts yearned o'er it in that hour of sorest need, 
And they felt that Death was holy, and it sanctified the deed. 

But they smiled and kissed each other when their new strange task 

was o'er, 
And the form that lay before them its unwonted garments wore. 

Then with slow and weary labor a small grave they hollowed out, 
And they lined it with the withered grass and leaves that lay about. 

But the day was slowly breaking ere their holy work was done, 
And in crimson pomp the morning again heralded the sun. 

And then those little maidens — they were children of our foes — 
Laid the body of our Drummer-boy to undisturbed repose. 



THE PILOT— A THBILLING INCIDENT. 

JOHN B. GOUGH. 

Joh^" Mayxakd was well known in the lake district as a 
God-fearing, honest and intelligent pilot. He was pilot on 
a steamboat from Detroit to Buffalo. One summer afternoon 
— at that time those steamers seldom carried boats — smoke 
was seen ascending from below, and the captain called out : 

" Simpson, go below, and see what the matter is down 
there." 

Simpson came np with his face pale as ashes and said, 

" Captain, the ship is on fire." 

Then " Fire ! fire ! fire ! " on shipboard. 

All hands were called up. Buckets of w:iter were dashed 



28 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

on the fire, but in vain. There were large quantities of rosin 
and tar on board, and it was found useless to attempt to save 
the ship. The passengers rushed forward and inquired of 
the pilot : 

" How far are we from Buffalo ? " 

" Seven miles." 

" How long before we can reach there ? " 

" Three-quarters of an hour at our present rate of steam." 

" Is there any danger P " 

" Danger ! here — see the smoke bursting out — go forward 
if you would save your lives." 

Passengers and crew — men, women and children — crowded 
the forward part of the ship. John Maynard stood at the 
helm. The flames burst forth in a sheet of fire ; clouds of 
smoke arose. The captain cried out through his trumpet : 

" John Maynard ! " 

" Aye, aye, sir ! " 

" Are you at the helm ? " 

" Aye, aye, sir ! " 

11 How does she head ? " 

" Southeast by east, sir." 

" Head her southeast and run her on shore," said the 
captain. 

Nearer, nearer, yet nearer, she approached the shore. 

Again the captain cried out : 

" John Maynard ! " 

The response came feebly this time, " Aye, aye, sir ! " 

" Can you hold on five minutes longer, John ? " he said. 

" By God's help, I will." 

The old man's hair was scorched from the scalp, one hand 
disabled, his knee upon the stanchion, and his teeth set, with 
his other hand upon the wheel, he stood firm as a rock. He 
beached the ship ; every man, woman, and child was saved, 
as John Maynard dropped, and his spirit took its flight to its 
God. 



THE SOLDIER'S RETURN. 29 



THE SOLDIER'S BETUEN. 

A COLLOQUY— IN TWO SCENES. 

F. B. WILSON. 



huxutttxs. 



Mr. Hansford, Jay Persings, 

Mrs. Hansford, Ralph Fielding, 

Rosa Beaumond, Soldier, 

Captain Hansford, Fairies (three). 

Costume. — Mr. and Mrs. Hansford — plainly dressed. Captain 
Hansford — uniform. Ralph Fielding — carelessly dressed, disorder- 
ed hair. Fairies — dresses of light gauze, different colors. 

Directions. — B. means Bight of Stage facing the audience ; L. Left ; 
C. Centre ; L. C. Left of Centre ; B. C. Bight of Centre* 

Scene I. — Interior of a Kitchen in a Xeiv England Home — Mr. and 

Mrs. Hansford seated near each other ; he with paper she with 

knitting. 
* 
Mrs. Haxford. Do you know, husband, that it is just 

three years ago to-day that our son, our dear boy, bade us 
" good-bye." Tis just three years since he marched with 
many other patriot boys, to battle for freedom. Oh ! how 
firm he looked as he stood forth in his suit of blue ; how 
hopeful he seemed to be ! " I will came back, mother," he 
said, " crowned with glory, in three years from to-day." 
Those words I can never forget; but where is our boy 
to-night ? 

Mr. H. 'Tis strange, wife, that our minds should wander 
to the same subject ; though I sit with paper in hand, glanc- 
ing over its columns, my thoughts were far away. I thought 
of him, as he heroically charged against the enemy, as wound- 

* As nearly every school has some sort of a stage and curtain, any directions 
on this subject would be superfluous. The stage should be deep enough to 
admit of a second curtain. This curtain should not extend over more than 
two-thirds of the stage. A gauze curtain behind the dark one will add to 
the effect. 



30 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

ed he lay on the field of battle. His letters assure ns that 
he is not a stranger to such scenes as these. But a year has 
elapsed since we have heard from him. His name has not 
appeared in the list of wounded or killed. I still hope that 
he may be alive. I would not think otherwise. 

Mrs. H. Perhaps he now lives in some dismal prison 
cell. A worse fate than this may have befallen him. Sick- 
ness, brought on by being forced to sleep in damp rebel 
prisons, and want of food, may have caused his death. 

Mr. H. I feel positive that he is not now in the ranks of 
the army. One of your conjectures must be true. But 
God grant that he may yet live, and return to us. 

Mrs. H. This is war's harsh blow. Each bullet, each 
blade, that pierces a heart on a battle-field, pierces double 
the number at home. Many a home has a " vacant chair " 
in it to-night. But the struggle is for liberty. Our son has 
fought and bled, perhaps died for his country. The thought 
is a fearful one ; but God still lives. 

Mr. H. Let that thought still cheer us : " God still 
lives." May he grant victory to the cause of Union, free- 
dom to the bond-man, and peace and consolation to every 
broken heart. Wife, let us spare our fears, let us be 
hopeful. 

Silence for a few moments ; a knock is heard at door. 

Mr. H. Come ! {Enter soldier, wounded.) 

Soldier, (r.) I am hungry and weary with my long 
journey. I am without money; taken very sick on my 
way, I was forced to spend all I had during my sickness. I 
am loath to beg, but am driven to it. 

Mrs. H. "We know how to feel for you ; we gladly will 
do all in our power to aid you. Sit down and rest yourself, 
while I prepare some food for you. (Mrs. H. firepares food on 
table, L. c.) 

Mr. H. In what division of the army were you placed ? 

Soldier. The Potomac army. I have been with Gen. 
McClellan during the whole campaign. At the battle of 



THE SOLDIER'S RETURN. 31 

Gettysburg I received this severe wound in my arm, which 
prevented me from joining my company again. 

Mr. H. I had a son in the Potomac army ; in the Con- 
necticut infantry. He enlisted three years ago ; was cap- 
tain when last we heard from him. Several letters did we 
receive from him during the battles before Richmond ; but 
since then not one word has reached us concerning his 
welfare. 

Soldier. My regiment was quartered for some time near 
some troops from Connecticut. I was quite intimate with a 
captain, by name, Hansford ; yet I do not know the number 
of his regiment. 

Mr. H. It must have been my son. Do you know where 
he now is ? When did you see him last ? 

Soldier. I saw him last just before those terrific battles 
that will ever be remembered in history. So fearful had 
been the conflict, so hasty our departure, that we thought 
of little besides ourselves and home. If he had fallen on 
the field you would certainly have been informed. 

Mrs. H. Come, your meal is ready. (Soldier takes seat.) 
Would that my boy were seated at your side. . 

Soldelr. It may be in my power to learn something def- 
inite concerning your son. I know of his great worth. 
Many a deed of kindness has he performed for me. Little 
did I ever think that I should meet his parents. But I 
pledge you a soldier's word, that I will endeavor to learn 
where he may now be, and will write you all I may hear 
concerning him. (rises to go.) 

Mr. H. (whispers something to tcife, L.) I am not rich, I am 
obliged to work that I may comfortably live ; yet I can 
spare you money so that you need walk no more. Here, 
take this, {hands him purse) and may God bless thee. 

Soldier. I will return this money. You truly are a sol- 
dier's friend, and God will reward you for this noble act. 

(Exits, leaves his bundle k. 

Mr. H. I will now go to the office, tidings may reach ua 
from him. (Mr. H. passes out one door R., she another L.) 



32 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Enter Jay Persings and Ralph Fielding, r. 

Persings. The old man has just gone to the office, I met 
him on my way here. Wonder where the old woman is P 
I would really like to see how they will take the news con- 
tained in that letter, (laughs, Soldier re-enters, walks toward 
bundle, stops.) 

Fielding. You have forced me to do a dreadful thing, 
Jay. I am guilty of a most shameful deed. 

Persings. Why man, how you talk ! Nothing wrong 
about it. I know his son must be dead ere this ; when he 
reads that letter his fears will be confirmed. There will be 
a short season of mourning, and soon all excitement will 
pass away. 

Fielding. Supposing his son be not dead ? What if he 
should return ? 

Persings. All the better, providing I marry Rosa Beau- 
mond ere his return. 

Fielding. But will she marry you ? Some girls never 

forget an absent lover. Their lives are so 

Persixgs. Well, I declare ; if I ever thought of hearing 
you say anything so foolish. Girls never marry because one 
lover dies. Pooh ! pooh ! I tell you, Ealph, as soon as one 
lover is lost to them, they put forth every exertion to get 
another. You look excited this morning. Here, take a 
drink, (produces flash) 

Fielding, {turns partly around, raises flash to Ms lips.) This 
room makes me think of my own home. How very like it, 
oh, how happy was I there ! What pleasant dreams I had, 
as I lay on my pillow under the little cottage-roof. But 
now ugly dreams haunt me ; last night snakes seemed to be 
twining around my body, and crawling about my arms ; I 
tore my hair, I cried, (observes Soldier, who has advanced near 
him.) Who, sir, are you r 

Soldier. A weary worn-out soldier. I stopped here a 
few moments ago, and was kindly treated by the good peo- 
ple here. I had forgotten my bundle and have just returned 
for it. 



THE SOLDIER'S RETURN. 33 

PERSIXGS. Take it and leave immediately. 

Soldier, (going r.) I know the designs of these wicked 
men. The cars are abont to leave, (bell rings). I hear the 
hell, I shall write to my benefactor, and tell him all, as soon 
as I reach home. (Exit. 

Fieldixgl Come, Ealph, let us be on our way ; 'tis nearly 
time for the old man to return (Exeunt R. 

Enter Mrs. H. and Rosa Beaumoxd, l 

Mrs. H. A soldier called a few moments since, Eosa, who 
had known Theodore. He spoke very highly of him, and 
told me he would try and learn where he may now be. 

Eosa. Would that I could have seen him. What anxiety 
is mine. But let us " lay all our cares on God ; that 
anchor holds." 

Enter Mr. EL, letter in hand, sad. 

Mrs. H. and Eosa. What, have you heard 

Mr. H. (in a broken voice.) This letter is from an officer in 
Theodore's regiment ; and informs me that he is dead — 
died in a rebel prison. (Eosa utters a scream, is supported to 
arm-chair c, Mr. and Mrs. H. sink down overpowered.) 

Curtain at back of stages rises, three Fairies appear with wands. 
First Fairy. The blow is a severe one, dear, good and 
honest people. But it is to test your love for him you mourn. 
He is not dead, you shall see him again. " God still lives ; " 
trust in him. 

(All speak.) May slumbers sweet surround you, 
May your hopes in God remain ; 
May Jesus look in mercy, 

And calm your troubled brain. 

Gauze falls in front of Fairies — Music heard without — Curtain 
slowly falls. 

Fairies. 

Eosa 

Mr. H. Mrs. H. 

CUBTAm. 



34 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Scene II. — Same as Scene!. — Mrs. H. seated alone, knitting, looks 
up from her work, 

Mrs. H. As I sit knitting to-night, I cannot but think 
of the poem : 

" There's but one pair of stockings to mend to-night." 

How true of my own little family. One died in infancy. 
Another was drowned while endeavoring to save the life of 
a poor widow's child. The youngest, yes, the dearest and 
best, died for his country ; manfully did he go forth as 
soon as war's hot breath o'erspread the land. What suffer- 
ings he has undergone since then ! He loved his home, he 
loved Eosa Beaumond, but he loved his country belter than 
all. What a blank is now in our little home. May God's 
mercy rest with every vacant fireside. May his presence 
cheer many a sad household to-night. 

Enter Rosa. r. 

Eosa. I have much to tell you, dear Mrs. Hansford. This 
day has been an exciting one to me. 

Mb. H. Sit down, Eosa, tell me all, you look weary and 
worn out. 

Eosa. For sometime Jay Per sings has been very attentive 
to me. He told me that he felt badly to see me dressed in 
mourning ; sympathized with me, pitied me ; and to-day he 
wrote me, asking my hand in marriage, urging me to fix 
upon an early day for our wedding. 

Mrs. H. And your answer, Eosa ? 

Eosa. I answered him " No." His offer I spurn. 

Mrs. H. But Eosa, if he loves you, it might 

Eosa. (c.) I know Jay Persings. I have seen him in the 
street, drunken. He is without character. Then his offer, 
so soon after the death of one I most devotedly loved, leads 
me to spurn him more than for any other act. But were he 
perfection, I should reject his offer. 



THE SOLDIER'S RETURN. 35 

Mrs. H. You arc doubtless right, Eosa, though you sur- 
prise me, as I did not think him guilty of so great a vice. 

Eosa. I had a dream the evening Mr. Hansford brought 
us the terrible news, but I feared to tell it you. It was so 
sweet a dream, so pleasant, so cheering, so impossible, that 
I did not tell you. (Mrs. H. appears interested.) But last 
night I had the same dream, saw the same vision. A group 
of fairies, three in number, appeared to me. I do not remem- 
ber all they said, but they told me I should yet see him 
whom I loved. 'Tis foolish to believe in dreams, but what 
can this mean ? 

Mrs. H. The same vision of which you speak, saw I on 
that evening. But he is dead. We can never meet him 
again on this earth. Those fairy angels have told us we 
shall meet him again, but it shall be in heaven. Come, 
with me, Eosa, you are weary. {Exeunt. 

Enter Ralph Fieldixg r. 3 looks wildly around. 

Fielding. What a wretched night I have passed since I 
wrote that dreadful letter. 

Enter, unperceired, Soldier r.. citizen's dress. 

Eum has not power to make me hide that sin. Jay 
made me drunk before I wrote it. He promised me money, 
and as yet has not given it me. I have come here now for 
the purpose of acknowledging my whole crime. Glad am I 
that the girl has not married Jay Persings. This that I 
shall tell her will at least save her from being a drunkard's 
wife. Would to God that her lover still lives, {tarns around 
and observes Soldier.) What are — you — 

Soldier. I am he who, as a worn-out soldier met you 
and one you called Jay, a few weeks ago. I heard your 
conversation then, I heard your reverie now. I know all. 
You are about to act the part of a man. Let this day be 
one you will long remember. Eeform now. Capt. Hans- 
ford still lives, and is now on his way home : for some time 



36 KECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

lie lias been confined in a rebel prison — was lately released, 
and may reach home to-day. I have learned this since I 
was here ; and I have come to tell the family, and to inform 
them of Persings' infamous plot. 

Enter Mr. and Mrs. H. } and "Rosa. 

Soldier. Do not let our presence surprise you, listen to 
what this man has got to say. 

Fielding. I was implicated in a plot, gotten up by Jay 
Persings. That was a forged letter. Your son, madam, 
your lover, madam, is not dead, (surp'ise manifested.) Jay 
made me drunk before I forged that letter. I have repented. 
I come to ask your forgiveness. 

Mr. H. Our joy is too great for us to harbor an unkind 
thought toward any. But who are you ? 

Soldier. Do you remember feeding a wounded soldier 
a few weeks since, and giving him money to proceed on his 
journey ? I am that one. I am come to tell you that your 
son still lives. He is on his way home. Possibly he may be 

here 

Door opens, enter Capt. Hansford, r. 

Capt. H. Mother ! Father ! and dear Eosa, is it really 
you? 

Mr. H. Let us leave them alone. 

Exeunt, music, Rosa stands with both hands resting in Capt. H.'s., l. c, 

curtain falls at back of stage, Fairies appear. 

First Fairy. May the anxiety which you have felt be of 
good to you. God ruleth ! It is he that has restored your 
lover to you. Praise Him ! 

{All speak.) May your lives be long and happy, 
May your sorrows be but few ; 
May Jesus be your constant friend, 
And ever may you be true. 

Gauze falls in front of Fairies, music heard without — Curtain slowly 

falls. 



BURIAL OF THE CHAMPION OF HIS CLASS. 37 

BURIAL OF THE CHAMPION OF HIS CLASS, 
AT YALE COLLEGE. 

N. P. WILLIS. 

Ye've gathered to your place of prayer 

With slow and measured tread : 
Your ranks are full, your mates all there — 

But the soul of one has fled. 
He was the proudest in his strength, 

The manliest of ye all ; 
Why lies he at that length, 

And ye around his pall 1 

Ye reckon it in days, since he 

Strode up that foot-worn aisle, 
With his dark eye flashing gloriously, 

And his lip wreathed with a smile. 
0, had it been but told you, then, 

To mark whose lamp was dim — 
From out yon rank of fresh-lipp'd men, 

Would ye have singled him 1 

Whose was the sinewy arm, that flung 

Defiance to the ring 1 
Whose laugh of victory loudest rung — 

Yet not for glorying 1 
Whose heart in generous deed and thought, 

No rivalry might brook, 
And yet distinction claiming not 1 

There lies he — go and look ! 

On now — his requiem is done, 

His last deep prayer is said — 
On to his burial, comrades — on, 

With a friend and brother dead ! 
Slow — for it presses heavily — 

It is a man ye bear ! 



38 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Slow, for our thoughts dwell wearily 
Ou the gallant sleeper there. 

Tread lightly, comrades ! — we have laid 

His dark locks on his brow — 
Like life — save deeper light and shade : 

Well not disturb them now. 
Tread lightly — for 'tis beautiful, 

That blue-vein'd eyelid's sleep, 
Hiding the eye death left so dull — 

Its slumber we will keep. 

Rest now ! his journeying is done — 

Your feet are on his sod — 
Death's blow has fell'd your champion — 

He waiteth here his God. 
Ay — turn and weep — 'tis manliness 

To be heart-broken here — 
For the grave of one the best of us 

Is water'd by the tear. 



SCOTT AND THE VETEKAN. 

BAYARD TAYLOR. 

An old and crippled veteran to the War Department came, 
He sought the Chief who led him on many a field of fame — 
The Chief who shouted " Forward ! " where'er his banner rose, 
And bore its stars in triumph behind the flying foes. 

" Have you forgotten, General," the battered soldier cried, 
" The days of eighteen hundred twelve, when I was at your side 1 
Have you forgotten Johnson, who fought at Lundy's Lane 1 
'Tis true, I'm old and pensioned, but I want to fight again." 

" Have I forgotten 1 " said the Chief: " My brave old soldier, no ! 

And here's the hand I gave you then, and let it tell you so ; 

But you have done your share, my friend ; you're crippled, old, 

and gray, 
And we have need of younger arms and fresher blood to-day." 



SCOTT AND THE VETERAN. 39 

" But, General," cried the veteran, a flush upon his brow, 

'•' The very men who fought with us, they say are traitors now : 

They've torn the flag of Lundy's Lane, our old red, white and 

blue, 
And while a drop of blood is left, I'll show that drop is true. 

" I'm not so weak but I can strike, and I've a good old gun, 
To get the range of traitors' hearts, and prick them, one by one. 
Your Minie rifles and such arms, it ain't worth while to try ; 
I couldn't get the hang o' them, but I'll keep my powder dry ! " 

" God bless you, comrade ! " said the Chief, — li God bless your loyal 

heart ! 
But younger men are in the field, and claim to have a part; 
They'll plant our sacred banner firm, in each rebellious town, 
And woe, henceforth, to any hand that dares to pull it down ! " 

" But, General ! " — still persisting, the weeping veteran cried, 
14 I'm young enough to follow, so long as you're my guide ; 
And some you know must bite the dust, and that, at least, can I ; 
So, give the young ones place to fight, but me a place to die ! 

" If they should fire on Pickens, let the colonel in command 
Put me upon the rampart with the flag-staff' in my hand : 
No odds how hot the cannon-smoke, or how the shell may fly, 
I'll hold the Stars and Stripes aloft, and hold them till I die ! 

" I'm ready, General ; so you let a post to me be given 

Where Washington can look at me, as he looks down from heaven, 

And say to Putnam at his side, or, may be, General Wayne — 

I There stands old Billy Johnson, who fought at Lundy's Lane ! ■ 

II And when the fight is raging hot, before the traitors fly — 
When shell and ball are screeching, and bursting in the sky, 
If any shot should pierce through me, and lay me on my face, 
My soul would go to Washington's and not to Arnold's place ! " 



40 KECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 



BARBARA FEIETCHIE. 

JOHN G. WHITTIER. 

Up from the meadows rich with corn, 
Clear in the cool September morn, 

The cluster' d spires of Frederick stand, 
Green- wall'd by the hills of Maryland. 

Round about them orchards sweep, 
Apple and peach tree fruited deep, 

Fair as a garden of the Lord, 

To the eyes of that famish'd rebel horde, 

On that pleasant morn of the early Fall, 
When Lee march' d over the mountain wall, 

Over the mountains winding down, 
Horse and foot, into Frederick town 

Forty flags with their silver stars, 
Forty flags with their crimson bars, 

Flapp'd in the morning wind : the sun 
Of noon look'd down, and saw not one. 

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, 
Bow'd with her fourscore years and ten ; 

Bravest of all in Frederick town, 

She took up the flag the men hauTd down, 

In her attic window the staff she set, 
To show that one heart was loyal yet. 

Up the street came the rebel tread, 
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. 

Under his slouch'd hat left and right 
He glanced j the old flag met his sight. 



BARBARA FRIETCHIE. 41 

" Halt ! " — the dust-brown ranks stood fast ; 
li Fire ! " — out blazed the rifle-blast. 

It shiver'd the window-pane and sash, 
It rent the banner with seam and gash. 

Quick, as it fell from the broken staff, 
Dame Barbara snatch'd the silken scarf. 

She lean'd far out on the window-sill, 
And shook it forth with a royal will. 

11 Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, 
But spare your country's flag," she said. 

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame 7 
Over the face of the leader came ; 

The nobler nature within him stirr'd 
To life at that woman's deed aDd word. 

" "Who touches a hair of yon gray head 
Dies like a dog ! March on !" he said. 

All day long through Frederick street 
Sounded the tread of marching feet ; 

All day long that free flag toss'd 
Over the heads of the rebel host. 

Ever its torn folds rose and fell 

On the loyal winds that loved it well ; 

And through the hill-gaps, sunset light 
Shone over it with a warm good-night. 

Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, 

And the rebel rides on his raids no more. 

Honor to her ! and let a tear 

Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. 



42 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, 
Flag of Freedom and Union, wave ! 

Peace and order and beauty draw 
Round thy symbol of light and law ; 

And ever the stars above look down 
On thv stars below in Frederick town. 



"I WOULDN'T— WOULD YOU." 

ANONYMOUS. 

When a lady is seen at a party or ball, — 
Her eyes vainly turn'd in her fits of conceit, 

As she peers at the gentlemen, fancying all 

Are enchained by her charms and would kneel at her feet, 

With each partner coquetting, — to nobody true ;— 

I wouldn't give much for her chances : would you 1 

When an upstart is seen on the flags strutting out. 

With his hat cock'd aslant, and a glass in his eye ; 
And thick clouds of foul smoke he stands puffing about, 

As he inwardly says, " what a noble am I," — 
While he twists his moustache for the ladies to view ; 
I wouldn' t give much for his senses : — would you 1 — 

When a wife runs about at her neighbors to pry, 
Leaving children at home, unprotected to play ; 

Till she starts back in haste at the sound of their cry, 
And finds they've been fighting while mother's away, 

Sugar eaten — panes broken — the wind blowing through ; 

I wouldn't give much for her comfort : — would you 1 

When a husband is idle, neglecting his work, 

In the public-house snarling with quarrelsome knaves ; 

When he gambles with simpletons, drinks like a Turk, 
While his good wife at home for his poor children slaves ; 

And that home is quite destitute — painful to view ; 

I wouldn't give much for his morals : — would you ? 



"I wouldn't WOULD YOU?" 43 

When a boy at his school, lounging over his seat, 
Sits rubbing his head, and neglecting his book, 

While he fumbles his pockets for something to eat, 
Yet pretendeth to read when his master may look, 

Though he boasts to his parents how much he can do ; 

I wouldn't give much for his progress ; — would you 1 

When a man who is driving a horse on the road, 

Reins and whips the poor brute with unmerciful hand, 

Whilst it willingly strives to haste on with its load, 
Till with suffering and working it scarcely can stand ; 

Though he may be a man — and a wealthy one too ; 

I wouldn't give much for his feeling : — would you 1 

When a master who lives by his laborers' skill, 

Hoards his gold up in thousands, still craving for more, 

Though poor are his toilers he grindeth them still, 
Or unfeelingly turns them away from his door ; 

Though he banketh his millions with claims not a few ; 

I wouldn't give much for his conscience: — would you 1 

When a tradesman his neighbor's fair terms will decry, 
And keeps puffing his goods at a wonderful rate j — 

E'en at prices at which no fair trader can buy ; — 
Though customers flock to him early and late ; 

When a few months have fled and large bills become due, 

I wouldn't give much for his credit : — would you 1 

When in murderous deeds a man's hands are imbrued. 
" Tho' revenge is his plea, and the crime is conceal'd, 
The severe stings of conscience will quickly intrude, 

And the mind, self-accusing, can never be heal'd ; — 
When the strong arm of justice sets out to pursue, 
I wouldn't give much for his freedom : — would you 1 

When a husband and wife keep their secrets apart, 
Not a word to my spouse about this, or on that ; 

When a trifle may banish the pledge of their heart, 
And he naggles — she snaggles ; — both contradict flat ; 



44 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Tho' unequall'd their love when its first blossoms blew ; 
I wouldn't give much for their quiet : — would you 1 

When a man who has lived here for none but himself, 
Feels laid on his strong frame the cold hand of death, 

When all fade away, — wife, home, pleasures, and pelf, 
And he yields back to God both his soul and his breath : 

As up to the judgment that naked soul flew, 

I wouldn't give much for his Heaven ! — would you 1 



THE PEOFESSOE PUZZLED. 

f. b. wilson. 
Professor. Pupil. 

Scene. — The Prof essor^ s Study. Professor seated by table examining 
some manuscripts. {Enter Pupil, smoking.) 

Pupil. Good evening, Professor. {Throws himself into a 
chair.) 

Prof. Good evening, sir. As this is the last lesson of 
your course, I wish to call your attention to the different 
topics that we have taken up in your previous lessons. I must 
say, Mr. S., that your success has not been as great as it might 
have been. You have been in too great a hurry. . You wish- 
ed to be drilled on the " Raven " and Shakspeare before you 
fully understood the tones of voice. Emphasis and slide, the 
great beauty of good reading, have been almost wholly over- 
looked by you, notwithstanding my repeated cautions. It 
is not my intention to criticize your performance this eve- 
ning. I shall take up all the essential elements that con- 
stitute an orator, and I am confident that from the drill you 
have had, you ought to be able to give them correctly. I 
therefore consider this lesson a sort of an examination. You 
may place yourself where the audience can see you, and take 
first position, sitting. {Pupil takes position.) 

Pupil. Shall I now give a personation of a band of min- 
strels opening an entertainment ? 



THE PROFESSOR PUZZLED. 45 

Prof. You may, and then be done with burlesque. 

Pupil. {Picking up programme from floor.) Colored folks, 
seem* you've 'sembled yourself this evening fer the purpose 
of entertaining de white population, de fus' thing dat strikes 
my optical observation on dis evening's programme am de 
overture, so throw yourself away, {throws himself. ) 

Prof. Let us now leave the minstrels to finish their own 
performance, and go on with ours. Pise, take first position. 
Give the sentence, " Let me grasp thee," in the orotund. 

Pupil. {Takes position.) " Let me grasp thee " {catches hold 
of Prof.) 

Prof. Back ! I asked for the tone, not the action. 

Pupil. But what power have words without action ? 

Prof. Without action all oratory sinks into insignificance. 
Demosthenes gave action as the first, second and third requi- 
sites to a perfect orator. But you are now not performing 
the part of a speaker, you are simply giving the elements 
that constitute one. Take now the selection, " She loved 
me," etc. 

Pupil. " She loved me for the tales I told, 

I loved her for the beer she sold." 

Prof. Is your memory so weak, or is the burlesque so 
deeply seated in you that you murder the most beautiful 
passages ? 

Pupil. You gave me to understand that it was tone you 
wanted, not action, so I concluded that if I gave you the 
tone correctly, even words were of minor importance. 

Prof. Different selections require different tones. Words 
have all to do with tone. As you are inclined to the comic, 
you may recite a stanza from the Irish Picket. 

Pupil. " I'm standing in the mud, Biddy, 

With not a spalpeen near ; 
And silence spachless as the grave 

Is the only sound I hear ; 
This southern climate's quare, Biddy, 

A quare and beastly thing, 



46 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Wid winter absent all the year, 
And summer in the spring.' 1 

Prof. A little too much of the dramatic, but we will 
pass on. You may now sit. (Pupil sits.) Recite an extract 
from the " Hypochondriac." 

Pupil. The " Hypohcondriac ? " I never saw him. 

Prof. We have had that selection during your course. 
You are to personate a man that is ever complaining, one 
who imagines he has all the " many ills to which the flesh is 
heir." 

Pupil. I remember. Give me a towel to tie on my 
bead. 

Prof. This will do as well. (Hands him red silk handker- 
chief. He ties it on.) 

Pupil. " Good morning, Doctor ; how do you do ? I haint 
quite as well as I have been ; but I think I am somewhat 
better than I was. I don't think that last medicin' you gin 
me did me much good. I had a terrible time with the ear- 
ache last night ; my wife got up and drapped a few draps of 
walnut sap into it, and that relieved it some ; but I didn't get 
a wink of sleep till nearly daylight. For nearly a week, Dr., 
I've had the worst kind of a narvous headache ; it has been 
so bad sometimes that I thought my head would bust open. 
Oh, dear ! I sometimes think that I am the most afflictedest 
human being that ever lived, (coughs.) Oh, dear ! but that 
aint all, Dr., I've got fifteen corns on my toes — and I'm af- 
feard I'm going to have the yellow jaundice, (coughs.) 

Prof. We will now drop the comic. You may next give 
the closing part of Catiline's speech. 

Pupil, (rises.) "I go ; but not to leap the gulf alone." 
(Makes desperate lean on stage.) 

Prof. Hold ! Mr. S., you well know that there is but one 
step from the sublime to the ridiculous, and why do you 
murder that sublime passage ? 

Pupil. I was merely following out the teachings of De- 
mosthenes — action is the essential element in true oratory. 



THE PROFESSOR PUZZLED. 47 

Prof. Proper action, but not monkey-shines. At the 
word leap you may make a gesture with your hand. How 
often have I told you that stamping, or feet gestures, were 
entirely out of place. Try it again. 

Pupil. " I go ; but not to leap alone, 

I go; but when I come 'twill be the burst 
Of ocean in the earthquake — rolling back 

In swift and mountainous ruin. Good-bye now" 

Prof. " Good-bye now ; " are those words in the original ? 

Pupil. "Words of the same import are, and as the words 
" Fare thee well," imply the same as " good-bye," I know 
of no reason why we may not use them. 

Prof. The rules of oratory, I admit, are many and va- 
riable. You are now reciting a classical production, and 
the words " good-bye " cannot be considered classical. Be- 
gin again at that point. 

Pupil. " Fare you well ! 

You build my funeral pile ; but your best blood 

Shall quench its flame ! Back. Contrabands, I will return." 

Prof. Contraband is a word not in use at that time, j 
tell you, Mr. S., I am becoming discouraged. You are too 
careless. Take for your last selection Hamlet's soliloquy. 

Pupil. <: To marry, or not to marry? that is the question, 
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
The jeers and banters of outrageous females, 
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
And by proposing, end them. To court ; to marry ; 
To be a bach no more ; and. by a marriage, end 
The heart-ache, and the thousand and one ills 
Bachelors are heir to; 'tis a consummation 
Devoutly to be wished. But the dread of something after 
Makes us rather bear the ills we have 
Than fly to others that we know not of."' 

(Comical exit.) 



48 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

THANATOPSIS. 

W. C. BRYANT. 

To him who, in the love of Nature, holds 

Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 

A various language : for his gayer hours 

She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 

And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides 

Into his darker musings with a mild 

And gentle sympathy, that steals away 

Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts 

Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 

Over thy spirit, and sad images 

Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 

And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 

Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart, 

Go forth under the open sky, and list 

To Nature's teachings, while from all around — 

Earth and her waters, and the depths of air — 

Comes a still voice — Yet a few days, and thee 

The all-beholding sun shall see no more 

In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground, 

Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, 

Nor in the embrace of ocean shall exist 

Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim 

Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again ; 

And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 

Thine individual being, shalt thou go 

To mix forever with the elements ; 

To be a brother to the insensible rock, 

And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain 

Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak 

Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 

Yet not to thy eternal resting-place 

Shalt thou retire alone — nor couldst thou wish 

Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 

With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings, 

The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good, 



THANATOPSIS. 49 

Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, 

All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills. 

Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun ; the vales 

Stretching in pensive quietness between ; 

The venerable woods : rivers that move 

In majesty, and the complaining brooks, 

That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, 

Old ocean's grey and melancholy waste — 

Are but the solemn decorations all 

Of the great tomb of man ! The golden sun, 

The planets, all the infinite host of Heaven, 

Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 

Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 

The globe are but a handful to the tribes 

That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings 

Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, 

Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 

Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, 

Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there I 

And millions in those solitudes, since first 

The flight of years began, have laid them down 

In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone I 

So shalt thou rest * and what if thou shalt fall 

Unnoticed by the living, and no friend 

Take note of thy departure 1 All that breathe 

Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 

When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 

Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase 

His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 

Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 

And make their bed with thee. As the long train 

Of ages glide away, the sons of men — 

The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes 

In the full strength of years, matron and maid, 

The bowed with age, the infant in the smiles 

And beauty of its innocent age cut off — 

Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side, 

By those who in their turn shall follow them. 



50 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

So live, that when thy summons comes, to join 
The innumerable caravan, that moves 
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, 
Scourged to his dungeon ; but, sustained and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 



THE TWO KOADS. 

RICHTEB. 

It was New Year's night. An aged man was standing at 
a window. He mournfully raised his eyes toward the deep 
blue sky, where the stars were floating like white lilies on 
the surface of a clear, calm lake. Then he cast them on the 
earth, where few more helpless beings than himself were 
moving towards their inevitable goal — the tomb. Already 
he had passed sixty of the stages which lead to it, and he 
had brought from his journey nothing but errors and re- 
morse. His health was destroyed, his mind unfurnished, 
his heart sorrowful, and his old age devoid of comfort. 

The days of his youth rose up in a vision before him, and 
he recalled the solemn moment when his father had placed 
him at the entrance of two roads, one leading into a peace- 
ful, sunny land, covered with a fertile harvest, and resound- 
ing with soft, sweet songs ; while the other conducted the 
wanderer into a deep, dark cave, whence there was no issue, 
where poison flowed instead of water, and where serpents 
hissed and crawled. 

He looked towards the sky, and cried out, in his anguish • 
" O, youth, return ! O, my father, place me once more at the 
crossway of life, that I may choose the better road ! " But 
the days of his youth had passed away, and his parents were 
with the departed. He saw wandering lights float over 
dark marshes, and then disappear. " Such," he said, " were 



THE PAWNBROKER'S SHOP. 51 

the days of my wasted life ! " He saw a star shoot from 
heaven, and vanish in the darkness athwart the church-yard. 
" Behold an emblem of myself!" he exclaimed; and the 
sharp arrows of unavailing remorse struck him to the heart. 

Then he remembered his early companions, who had en- 
tered life with him, but who, having trod the paths of virtue 
and industry, were now happy and honored on this New 
Year's night. The clock in the high church-tower struck, 
and the sound, falling on his ear, recalled the many tokens 
of the love of his parents for him, their erring son ; the les- 
sons they had taught him ; the prayers they had offered up 
in his behalf. Overwhelmed with shame and grief, he dared 
no longer look towards that heaven where they dwelt. His 
darkened eyes dropped tears, and, with one despairing effort, 
he cried aloud, " Come back, my early days ! Come back ! " 

And his youth did return ; for all this had been but a 
dream, visiting his slumbers on New Year's night. He was 
still young ; his errors only were no dream. He thanked 
God fervently that time was still his own ; that he had not 
yet entered the deep, dark cavern, but that he was free to 
tread the road leading to the peaceful land where sunny har- 
vests wave. 

Ye who still linger on the threshold of life, doubting which 
path to choose, remember that when years shall be passed, 
and your feet shall stumble on the dark mountains, you will 
cry bitterly, but cry in vain, " O, youth return ! O, give me 
back my early days ! " 



THE PAWNBROKER'S SHOP. 

ANONYMOUS. 

'Tis Saturday night, and the chill rain and sleet 
Is swept by the wind down the long dreary street ; 
The lamps in the windows flicker and blink, 
As the wild gale whistles through cranny and chink ; 
But round yon door huddles a shivering crowd 
Of wretches, by pain and by penufy bowed j 



52 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

And oaths are muttered, and curses drop 

From their lips as they stand by the Pawnbroker's shop. 

Visages, hardened and seared by sin ; 
Faces, bloated and pimpled with gin ; 
Crime, with its plunder, by poverty's side ; 
Beauty in ruins and broken-down pride. 
Modesty's cheek crimsoned deeply with shame ; 
Youth's active form, age's fast-failing frame, 
Have come forth from street, lane, alley, and stop, 
Heart-sick, weary and worn, at the Pawnbroker's shop. 

With the rain and the biting wind chilled to the bone, 
Oh ! how they gaze upon splendor, and groan ! 
Around them — above them — wherever they gaze, 
There were jewels to dazzle and gold to amaze ; 
Velvets that tricked out some beautiful form ; 
Furs, which had shielded from winter and storm ; 
Crowded with " pledges," from bottom to top, 
Are the chests and the shelves of the Pawnbroker's shop. 

There's a tear in the eye ^>f yon beautiful girl, 
As she parts with a trinket of ruby and pearl ; 
Once as red was her lip, and as pure was her brow ; 
But there came a destroyer, and what is she now 1 
Lured by liquor, she bartered the gem of her fame, 
And abandoned by virtue, forsaken by shame, 
With no heart to pity, no kind hand to prop, 
She finds her last friend in the Pawnbroker's shop. 

The spendthrift, for gold that to-morrow will fly ; 

The naked, to eke out a meagre supply ; 

The houseless, to rake up sufficient to keep 

His head from the stones through the season of sleep : 

The robber, his booty to turn into gold ; 

The shrinking, the timid, the bashful, the bold ; 

The penniless drunkard, to get " one more drop," 

All seek a resource in the Pawnbroker's shop. 



THE SOPHOMORE'S SOLILOQUY. 53 

'Tis a record of ruin — a temple whose stones 

Are cemented with blood, and whose music is groans ; 

Its pilgrims are children of want and despair ; 

Alike grief and guilt to its portals repair ; 

Oh ! we need not seek fiction for records of woe ; 

Such are written too plainly wherever we go ; 

And sad lessons of life may be learned as we stop 

'Neath the three golden balls of a Pawnbroker's shop. 



THE SOPHOMOBE'S SOLILOQUY. 

MICHIGAN UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE. 

" To be, or not to be 1 " was Hamlet's question, 
And his discourse draws tears from many an eye ; 

A nobler doubt finds in my heart suggestion — - 
To dye, or not to dye 1 

It is not that I fear the King of Terrors, 

Cross-bones and skull call up no dire alarms-, ■ 

Be sure I'll not commit that worst of errors, 
Of rushing t#his arms. 

Whenever I am wanted down below, 

Old Bones will come and catch me, if he can ; 

And I have no desire, unasked, to go 
To haunts Tartarean. 

Nor am I thinking of a dwelling charnel 

In city grave-yard, or 'neath greenwood tree ; 

Than heavenly home, or stopping place infernal, 
Earth hath more charms for me. 

But of dyeing without pain or sorrow, 

Or sad farewell, with fluttering, fainting breath ; 

A dyeing that may hap again to-morrow, 
A dyeing without death. 

Yet all the doubts that Hamlet there expresses 
Are those that now are agitating me ; 



54 RECITxVTIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

The hopes and fears, and vague, uncertain guesses 
Of what my fate will be. 

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
The slights that nature puts upon me here, 

Or take the chance of meeting something rougher 
Than those which now I bear. 

If black proved always jet, and purple never, 
If yellow ne'er appeared for promised brown, 

My doubts would vanish, and no mental fever 
Would weigh my spirits down. 

But yet, to see the smiles, and meet the glances 
Of ridicule from girlhood's eyes that flash ! 

It is too bitter — I must take the chances, 
And dye — my young moustache. 



THE NATION'S HYMN. 

ANONYMOUS. 

Our past is bright and grand 
In the purple tints of time ; 
And the present of our land 

Points to glories more sublime. 
For our destiny is won ; 

And 'tis ours to lead the van 
Of the nations marching on, 
Of the moving hosts of man ! 
Yes, the Starry Flag alone 

Shall wave above the van, 
Of the nations sweeping on, 
Of the moving hosts of man ! 

We are sprung from noble sires 

As were ever sung in song ; 
We are bold with Freedom's fires, 

We are rich, and wise, and strong. 



THE nation's hymn. 55 

On us are freely showered 
The gifts of every clime, 
And we're the richest dowered 
Of all the heirs of Time ! 

Brothers, then, in Union strong, 

We shall ever lead the van, 
As the nations sweep along, 
To fulfil the hopes of man ! 

We are brothers ; and we know 

That our Union is a tower, 
When the fiercest whirlwinds blow, 
And the darkest tempests lower ! 
We shall sweep the land and sea, 

While we march, in Union, great, 
Thirty millions of the free 
With the steady step of fate ! 
Brothers, then, in Union, strong, 

Let us ever lead the van, 
As the nations sweep along, 
To fulfil the hopes of man ! 

See our prairies, sky-surrounded ! 
See our sunlit mountain chains ! 
See our waving Avoods, unbounded, 

And our cities on the plains ! 
See the oceans kiss our strand, • 

Oceans stretched from pole to pole ! 
See our mighty lakes expand, 
And our giant rivers roll ! 
Such a land, and such alone, 

Should be leader of the van, 
As the nations sweep along, 
To fulfil the hopes of man ! 

Yes, the spirit of our land, 

The young giant of the West, 
With the waters in his hand, 

With the forests for his crest — 



56 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

To our hearts' quick, proud pulsations, 

To our shouts that still increase, 
Shall yet lead on the nations, 
To their brotherhood of peace ! 
Yes, Columbia, great and strong, 

Shall forever lead the van, 
As the nations sweep along, 
To fulfil the hopes of man ! 



ADDEESS TO A SKELETON. 

ANONYMOUS. 

[The MSS. of this poem, which appeared during the first quarter of the 
present century, was said to have been found in the Museum of the Royal 
College of Surgeons, in London, near a perfect human skeleton, and to have 
been sent by the curator to the Morning CJironicle for publication. It excited 
so much attention, that every effort was made to discover the author, and a 
responsible party went so far as to offer a reward of fifty guineas for informa- 
tion that would discover its origin. The author preserved his incognito, and, 
we believe, has never been discovered.] 

Behold this ruin ! 'Twas a skull 
Once of etherial spirit full. 
This narrow cell was Life's retreat, 
This space was Thought's mysterious seat. 
What beauteous visions filled this spot, 
What dreams of pleasure long forgot 1 
Nor hope, nor joy, nor love, nor fear, 
Have left one trace of record here. 

Beneath this mouldering canopy 

Once shone the bright and busy eye, 

But start not at the dismal void — 

If social love that eye employed. 

If with no lawless fire it gleamed, 

But through the dews of kindness beamed, 

That eye shall be forever bright 

When stars and sun are sunk in night. 

Within this hollow cavern hung 
The ready, swift and tuneful tongue ; 



A GLASS OF COLD WATER. 57 

If Falsehood's honey it disdained, 

And when it could not praise, was chained ; 

If bold in Virtue's cause it spoke, 

Yet gentle concord never broke ; 

This silent tongue shall plead for thee 

When Time unvails Eternity ! 

Say, did these fingers delve the mine 1 
Or with the envied rubies shine 1 
To hew the rock or wear a gem 
Can little now avail to them. 
But if the page of Truth they sought, 
Or comfort to the mourner brought, 
These hands a richer meed shall claim 
Than all that wait on Wealth and Fame. 

Avails it whether bare or shod, 
These feet the paths of duty trod 1 
If from the bowers of Ease they fled, 
To seek Affliction's humble shed; 
If Grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned, 
And home to Virtue's cot returned, 
These feet with angel wings shall vie, 
And tread the palace of the sky ! 



A GLASS OF COLD WATEE. 

J. B. GOUGH. 

Where is the liquor which God the Eternal brew^s for all 
his children ? Not in the simmering still, over smoky fires 
choked with poisonous gases, and surrounded with the stench 
of sickening odors, and rank corruptions, doth your Father 
in heaven prepare the precious essence of life, the pure cold 
water. But in the green glade and grassy dell, where the 
red deer wanders, and the child loves to play ; there God 
brews it. And down, low down in the lowest valleys, where 
the fountains murmur and the rills sing ; and high upon the 



58 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

the tall mountain tops, where the naked granite glitters like 
gold in the sun ; where the storm-cloud broods, and the 
thunder-storms crash ; and away far out on the wide wild sea, 
where the hurricane howls music, and the big waves roar ; 
the chorus sweeping the march of God : there he brews it — 
that beverage of life and health-giving water. And every- 
where it is a thing of beauty, gleaming in the dew-drop ; 
singing in the summer rain ; shining in the ice-gem, till the 
leaves all seem to turn to living jewels ; spreading a golden 
veil over the setting sun ; or a white gauze around the mid- 
night moon. 

Sporting in the cataract ; sleeping in the glacier ; dancing 
in the hail shower ; folding its bright snow curtains softly 
about the wintry world ; and waving the many-colored iris, 
that seraph's zone of the sky, whose warp is the rain-drop 
of earth, whose woof is the sunbeam of heaven ; all check- 
ered over with celestial flowers, by the mystic hand of re- 
fraction. 

Still always it is beautiful, that life-giving water ; no 
poison bubbles on its brink ; its foam brings not madness 
and murder ; no blood stains its liquid glass ; pale widows 
and starving orphans weep no burning tears in its depth ; 
no drunken, shrieking ghost from the grave curses it in the 
words of eternal despair ; speak on, my friends, would you 
exchange for it demon's drink, alcohol ! 



NEW YEAB'S EVE. 

ANONYMOUS. 

Little Gretchen, little Gretchen wanders up and down the street ; 
The snow is on her yellow hair, the frost is on her feet. 
The rows of long, dark houses without look cold and damp, 
By the struggling of the moonbeam, by the nicker of the lamp. 
The clouds ride fast as horses, the wind is from the north, 
But no one cares for Gretchen, and no one looketh forth. 



NEW year's eve. 59 

Within those dark, damp houses are merry faces bright, 
And happy hearts are watching out the old year's latest night. 

With the little box of matches she could not sell all day, 
And the thin, tattered mantle the wind blows every way, 
She clingeth to the railing, she shivers in the gloom — 
There are parents sitting snugly by the firelight in the room ; 
And children with grave faces are whispering one another 
Of presents for the new year, for father or for mother. 
But no one talks to Gretchen, and no one hears her speak, 
No breath of little whisperers comes warmly to her cheek. 

• No little arms are round her : ah me ! that there should be, 
With so much happiness on earth, so much of misery ! 
Sure they of many blessings should scatter blessings round, 
As laden boughs in Autumn fling their ripe fruits to the ground. 
And the best love man can offer to the God of love, be sure, 
Is kindness to his little ones, and bounty to his poor. 
Little Gretchen. little Gretchen goes coldly on her way ; 
There's no one looketh out at her, there's no one bids her stay. 

Her home is cold and desolate ; no smile, no food, no fire, 
But children clamorous for bread, and an impatient sire. 
So she sits down in an angle where two great houses meet, 
And she curleth up beneath her for warmth her little feet ; 
And she looketh on the the cold wall, and on the colder sky, 
And wonders if the little stars are bright fires up on high. 
She hears the clock strike slowly, up in a church tower, 
With such a sad and solemn tone, telling the midnight hour. 

And she rem?mbered her of tales her mother used to tell, 
And of the cradle-songs she sang, when Summer's twilight fell ; 
Of good men and of angels, and of the Holy Child, 
Who was cradled in a manger, when Winter was most wild ; 
Who was poor, and cold, and hungry, and desolate and lone ; 
And she thought the song had told he was ever with his own ; 
And all the poor and hungry and forsaken ones are his. — 
" How good of Him to look on me in such a place as this ! " 



60 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Colder it grows and colder, but she does not feel it now, 
For the pressure on her heart, and the weight upon her brow ; 
But she struck one little match on the wall so cold and bare, 
That she might look around her, and see if He were there. 
The single match has kindled, and by the light it threw 
It seemed to little Gretchen the wall was rent in two ; 
And she could see folks seated at a table richly spread, 
With heaps of goodly viands, red wine and pleasant bread. 

She could smell the fragrant savor, she could hear what they did 

say, 
Then all was darkness once again, the match had burned away. 
She struck another hastily, and now she seemed to see 
Within the same warm chamber a glorious Christmas tree. 
The branches were all laden with things that children prize, 
Bright gifts for boy and maiden — she saw them with her eyes. 
And she almost seemed to touch them, and to join the welcome 

shout, 
When darkness fell around her, for the little match was out. 

Another, yet another, she has tried — they will not light ; 
Till all her little store she took, and struck with all her might : 
And the whole miserable place was lighted with the glare, 
And she dreamed there stood a little child before her in the air. 
There were blood-drops on his forehead, a spear-wound in his side, 
And cruel nail-prints in his feet, and in his hands spread wide. 
And he looked upon her gently, and she felt that he had known 
Pain, hunger, cold, and sorrow — ay, equal to her own. 

And he pointed to the laden board and to the Christmas tree, 
Then up to the cold sky, and said, " Will Gretchen come with me ? n 
The poor child felt her pulses fail, she felt her eyeballs swim, 
And a ringing sound was in her ears, like her dead mother's 

hymn : 
And she folded both her thin white hands, and turned from that 

bright board, 
And from the golden gifts, and said, " With thee, with thee, 0, 

Lord ! ,? " 



THE SONG OF SHERMAN'S ARMY. 61 

The chilly winter morning breaks up in the dull skies 

On the city wrapt in vapor, on the spot where Gretchen lies. 

In her scant and tattered garments, with her back against the wall, 

She sitteth cold and rigid, she answers to no call. 

They have lifted her up fearfully, they shuddered as they said, 

"It was a bitter, bitter night ! the child is frozen dead." 

The angels sang their greeting for one more redeemed from sin ; 

Men said, " It was a bitter night; would no one let her in 1 " 

And they shivered as they spoke of her, and sighed. They could 

not see 
How much of happiness there was after that misery. 



THE SONG OF SHEEMAN'S ARMY. 

C. G. HALPINE. 

A pillar of fire by night, 

A pillar of smoke by day, 
Some hours of march, then a halt to fight, 

And so we hold our way ; 
Some hours of march, then a halt to fight, 

As on we hold our way. 

Over mountain, and plain, and stream, 

To some bright Atlantic bay, 
With our arms aflash in the morning beam, 

We hold our festal way ; 
With our arms aflash in the morning beam, 

We hold our checkless way 1 

There is terror wherever we come, 

There is terror and wild dismay , 
When they see the Old Flag and hear the drum 

Announce us on the way ; 
When they see the Old Flag and hear the drum 

Beating time to our onward way. 

Never unlimber a gun 

Fcr those villainous lines in grey, 



62 KECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Draw sabres ! and at 'em upon the run ! 

'Tis thus we clear our way, 
Draw sabres, and soon you will see them run, 

As we hold our conquering way. 

The loyal, who long have been dumb, 

Are loud in their cheers to-day ; 
And the old men out on their crutches come, 

To see us hold our way ; 
And the old men out on their crutches come, 

To bless us on our way. 

Around us in rear and flanks, 

Their futile squadrons play, 
With a sixty-mile front of steady ranks, 

We hold our checkless way ; 
With a sixty-mile front of serried ranks. 

Our banner clears the way. 

Hear the spattering fire that starts 

From the woods and copses grey, 
There is just enough fighting to quicken our hearts, 

As we frolic along the way ! 
There is just enough fighting to warm our hearts, 

As we rattle along the way. 

Upon different roads abreast 

The heads of our columns gay, 
With fluttering flags, all forward pressed, 

Hold on their conquering way. 
With fluttering flags to victory pressed, 

We hold our glorious way. 

Ah, traitors ! who bragged so bold 

In the sad war's early day, 
Did nothing predict you should ever behold 

The Old Flag come this way 1 
Did nothing predict you should yet behold 

Our banner come back this way ! 



THE SEA CAPTAIN'S STORY. 63 

By heaven ! 'tis a gala march, 

'Tis a pic-nic or a play ; 
Of all our long war 'tis the crowning arch, 

Hip, hip ! for Sherman's way ! 
Of all our long war this crowns the arch — 

For Sherman and Grant, hurrah ! 



THE SEA CAPTAIN'S STOEY. 

LORD LYTTON. 

Gentle lady ! 
The key of some charm'd music in your voice 
Unlocks a long-closed chamber in my soul j 
And would you listen to an outcast's tale, 
'Tis briefly told. Until my fourteenth year, 
Beneath the roof of an old village priest, 
Nor far from hence, my childhood wore away. 
Then waked within me anxious thoughts and deep. 
Throughout the liberal and melodious nature 
Something seem'd absent — what, I scarcely knew — 
Till one calm night, when over earth and wave 
Heaven looked its love from all its numberless stars — 
Watchful yet breathless — suddenly the sense 
Of my sweet want swelled in me, and I ask'd 
The priest — why I was motherless 7 
He wept and answer'd " I was nobly born ! " 

As he spake, 
There gleamed across my soul a dim remembrance 
Of a pale face in infancy beheld — 
A shadowy face, but from whose lips there breathed 
The words that none but mothers murmur ! 

'Twas at that time there came 
Into our hamlet a rude jovial seaman, 
With the frank mien boys welcome, and wild tales 
Of the far off Indian lands, from which mine ear 
Drank envious wonder. Brief — his legends fired me, 
And from the deep, whose billows washed the shore 
On which our casement look'd, I heard a voice 



64 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

That woo'd me to its bosom : Raleigh's fame, 

The New World's marvels, then made old men heroes, 

And young men dreamers ! So I left my home 

With that wild seaman. 

The villain whom I trusted, when we reached 

The bark he ruled, cast me to chains and darkness, 

And so to sea. At length no land in sight, 

His crew — dark, swarthy men — the refuse crimes 

Of many lands — (for he, it seems a pirate) 

Call'd me on deck — struck off my fetters : " Boy ! " 

He said, and grimly smiled : " not mine the wrong; 

Thy chains are forged from gold, the gold of those 

Who gave thee birth ! "' 

I wrench'd 
From his own hand the blade it bore, and struck 
The slanderer to my feet. With that, a shout, 
A hundred knives gleam'd round me ; but the pirate, 
Wiping the gore from his gaslrd brow, cried " Hold ! 
Such death were mercy. 1 ' Then they grip'd and bound me 
To a slight plank — spread to the wind their sails, 
And left me on the waves alone with God ! 
Tiiat day, and all that night, upon the seas 
Toss'd the frail barrier between life and death. 
Heaven lull'd the gales ; and when the stars came forth, 
All look'd so bland and gentle that I wept, 
Recall'd that wretch's words, and murmur'd, " Wave 
And wind are kinder than a parent." 
Day dawnM, and glittering in the sun, behold 
A sail — a flag ! 

It pass'd away, 
And saw me not. Noon, and then thirst and famine ; 
And, with parch'd lips, I call'd on death, and sought 
To wrench my limbs from the stiff cords that gnaw'd 
Into the flesh, and drop into the deep ; 
And then methought I saw beneath the clear 
And crystal lymph, a dark, swift-moving thing, 
With watchful glassy eyes — the ocean-monster 
That follows ships for prey. Then life once more 
Grew sweet, and with a straine 1 and horrent gaze, 



OUR HEROES. 65 

And lifted hair, I floated on, till sense 
Grew dim and dimlier, and a terrible sleep, 
In which still, still those livid eyes met mine, 
Fell on me. 

I awoke, and heard 
My native tongue. Kind looks were bent upon me ; 
I lay on deck, escaped the ghastly death — 
For God had watch'd the sleeper ! 



OUR HEROES. 

JOHN A. ANDREW. 

The heart swells with unwonted emotion when we re- 
member our sons and brothers whose constant valor has sus- 
tained, on the field, the cause of our country, of civilization, 
and liberty. On the ocean, on the rivers, on the land, on 
the heights where they thundered down from the clouds 
of Lookout Mountain the defiance of the skies, they have 
graven with their swords a record imperishable. 

The Muse herself demands the lapse of silent years to 
soften, by the influences of Time, her too keen and poignant 
realization of the scenes of War — the pathos, the heroism, 
the fierce joy, the grief of battle. But, during the ages to 
come, she will brood over their memory. Into the hearts of 
her consecrated priests she will breathe the inspirations of 
lofty and undying beauty, sublimity, and truth, in all the 
glowing forms of speech, of literature, and plastic art. By 
the homely traditions of the fireside, — by the head-stones in 
the church-yard consecrated to those whose forms repose far 
off in rude graves by the Rappahannock, or sleep beneath the 
sea, — embalmed in the memories of succeeding generations 
of parents and children, the heroic dead will live on in im- 
mortal youth. By their names, their character, their service, 
their fate, their glory, they cannot fail : — 

'•' They never fail who die 
In a great cause ; the block may soak their gore ; 



66 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Their heads may sodden in the sun, their limbs 

Be strung to city gates and castle wall ; 

But still their spirit walks abroad. Though years 

Elapse, and others share as dark a doom, 

They but augment the deep and sweeping thoughts 

Which overpower all others, and conduct 

The world at last to Freedom." 

The edict of Nantes, maintaining the religious liberty of 
the Huguenots, gave lustre to the fame of Henry the Great, 
whose name will gild the pages of history after mankind 
may have forgotten the material prowess and the white plume 
of Navarre. The Great Proclamation of Liberty will lift the 
ruler who uttered it, our nation and our age, above all vul- 
gar destiny. 

The bell which rang out the Declaration of Independence 
has found at last a voice articulate, to " proclaim liberty 
throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof.'' 
It has been heard across oceans, and has modified the senti- 
ments of cabinets and kings. The people of the Old World 
have heard it, and their hearts stop to catch the last whis- 
per of its echoes. The poor slave has heard it, and with 
bounding joy, tempered by the mystery of religion, he wor- 
ships and adores. The waiting continent has heard it, and 
already foresees the fulfilled prophecy, when she will sit 
" redeemed, regenerated, and disenthralled by the irresistible 
Genius of Universal Emancipation." 



THE CLOSING YEAE. 

GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 

'Tis midnight's holy hour, — and silence now 

Is brooding like a gentle spirit o'er 

The still and pulseless world. Hark ! on the winds 

The bell's deep tones are swelling, — 'tis the knell 

Of the departed year. No funeral train 

Is sweeping past ; yet, on the stream and wood, 



THE CLOSING YEAR. 67 

With melancholy light, the moon-beams rest 

Like a pale, spotless shroud ; the air is stirred 

As by a mourner's sigh ; and on yon cloud 

That floats so still and placidly through heaven. 

The spirits of the seasons seem to stand, — 

Young Spring, bright Summer, Autumn's solemn form, 

And Winter with its aged locks, — and breathe, 

In mournful cadences that come abroad 

Like the far wind-harp's wild and touching wail, 

A melancholy dirge o'er the dead year, 

Gone from the Earth forever. 

? Tis a time 
For memory and for tears. Within the deep, 
Still chambers of the heart, a spectre dim, 
Whose tones are like the wizard's voice of Time 
Heard from the tomb of ages, points its cold 
And solemn finger to the beautiful 
And holy visions that have passed away, 
And left no shadow of their loveliness 
On the dead waste of life. That spectre lifts 
The coffin-lid of Hope, and Joy, and Love, 
And bending mournfully above the pale, 
Sweet forms, that slumber there, scatters dead flowers 
O'er what has passed to nothingness. 

The year 
Has gone, and with it, many a glorious throng 
Of happy dreams. Its mark is on each brow, 
Its shadow in each heart. In its swift course, 
It waved its sceptre o'er the beautiful, — 
And they are not. It laid its pallid hand 
Upon the strong man, — and the haughty form 
Is fallen, and the flashing eye is dim. 
It trod the hall of revelry, where thronged 
The bright and joyous, — and the tearful wail 
Of stricken ones is heard where erst the song 
And reckless shout resounded. 



68 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

It passed o'er 
The battle-plain where sword, and spear, and shield, 
Flashed in the light of mid-day, — and the strength 
Of serried hosts is shivered, and the grass, 
Green from the soil of carnage, waves above 
The crushed and mouldering skeleton. It came, 
And faded like a wreath of mist at eve j 
Yet ere it melted in the viewless air 
It heralded its millions to their home 
In the dim land of dreams. 

Remorseless Time ! 
Fierce spirit of the glass and scythe ! — what power 
Can stay him in his. silent course, or melt 
His iron heart to pity 1 On, still on, 
He presses, and forever. The proud bird, 
The condor of the Andes, that can soar 
Through heaven's unfathomable depths, or brave 
The fury of the northern hurricane, 
And bathe his plumage in the thunder's home, 
Furls his broad wings at nightfall, and sinks down 
To rest upon his mountain crag, — but Time 
Knows not the weight of sleep or weariness, 
And night's deep darkness has no chain to bind 
His rushing pinions. 

Revolutions sweep 
O'er earth, like troubled visions o'er the breast 
Of dreaming sorrow, — cities rise and sink 
Like bubbles on the water, — fiery isles 
Spring blazing from the ocean, and go back 
To their mysterious caverns, — mountains rear 
To heaven their bald and blackened cliffs, and bow 
Their tall heads to the plain, — new empires rise, 
Gathering the strength of hoary centuries, 
And rush down like the Alpine avalanche, 
Startling the nations, — and the very stars, 
Yon bright and burning blazonry of God, 
Glitter a while in their eternal depths, 



BURIAL OF LITTLE NELL. 69 

And, like the Pleiads, loveliest of their train, 
Shoot from their glorious spheres, and pass away 
To darkle in the trackless void, — Yet, Time, 
Time, the tomb-builder, holds his fierce career, 
Dark, stern, all-pitiless, and pauses not 
Amid the mighty wrecks that strew his path 
To sit and muse, like other conquerors 
Upon the fearful ruin he has wrought. 



BUEIAL OF LITTLE NELL. 

CHARLES DICKENS. 

When morning came, and they could speak more calmly 
on the subject of their grief, they heard how her life had 
closed. 

She had been dead two days. They were all about her at 
the time, knowing that the end was drawing on. She died 
soon after daybreak. They had read and talked to her in 
the earlier portion of the night, but as the hours crept on, 
she sunk to sleep. They could tell by what she faintly 
uttered in her dreams, that they were of her journey in gs 
with the old man ; they were of no painful scenes, but of 
those who had helped and used them kindly, for she often 
said " God bless you ! " with great fervor. Waking, she 
never wandered in her mind but once, and that was at beau- 
tiful music which she said was in the air. God knows. It 
may have been. 

Opening her eyes at last, from a very quiet sleep, she beg- 
ged that they would kiss her once again. That done, she 
turned to the old man with a lovely smile upon her face — 
such, they said, as they had never seen, and never could for- 
get — and clung with both her arms about his neck. They 
did not know that she was dead at first. 

She had spoken very often of the two sisters, who, she 
said, were like dear friends to her. She wished they could 



70 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

be told how much she thought about them, and how she had 
watched them as they walked together by the river side at 
night. She would like to see poor Kit, she had often said 
of late. She wished there was somebody to take her love to 
Kit. And even then, she never thought or spoke about him 
but with something of her old, clear, merry laugh. 

For the rest, she had never murmured or complained ; but, 
with a quiet mind, and manner quite unaltered — save that 
she every day became more earnest and more grateful to 
them — faded like the light upon the summer's evening. 

The child who had been her little friend came there almost 
as soon as it was day, with an offering of dried flowers, which 
he begged them to lay upon her breast. It was he who had 
come to the window over night and spoken to the sexton, 
and they saw in the snow traces of small feet, where he had 
been lingering near the room in which she lay before he 
went to bed. He had a fancy, it seemed, that they had left 
her there alone ; and could not bear the thought. 

He told them of his dream again, and that it was of her 
being restored to them, just as she used to be. He begged 
hard to see her, saying that he would be very quiet, and that 
they need not fear his being alarmed, for he had sat alone by 
his younger brother all day long, when he was dead, ancl had 
felt glad to be so near him. They let him have his wish ; 
and indeed he kept his word, and was in his childish way a 
lesson to them all. 

Up to that time the old man had not spoken once — except 
to her — or stirred from the bedside. But when he saw her 
little favorite, he was moved as they had not seen him yet, 
and made as though he would have him come nearer. Then 
pointing to the bed he burst into tears for the first time, and 
they who stood by, knowing that the sight of this child had 
done him good, left them alone together. 

Soothing him with his artless talk of her, the child per- 
suaded him to take some rest, to walk abroad, to do almost 
as he desired him. And when the day came on, which must 
remove her in her earthly shape from earthly eyes forever, 



BURIAL OF LITTLE NELL. 71 

lie led him away, that he might not know when she was 
taken from him. 

They were to gather fresh leaves and berries for her bed. 
It was Sunday — a bright clear, wintry afternoon — and as 
they traversed the village street, those who were walking in 
their path drew back to make way for them, and gave them 
a softened greeting. Some shook the old man kindly by the 
hand, some stood uncovered while he tottered by, and many 
cried " God help him ! " as he passed along. 

" Neighbor ! " said the old man, stopping at the cottage 
where his young guide's mother dwelt, " how is it that the 
folks are nearly all in black to-day ? I have seen a mourn- 
ing ribbon or a piece of crape on almost every one." 

She could not tell, the woman said. 

" Why, you yourself — you wear the color too ! " he cried. 
" Windows are closed that never used to be by day. What 
does this mean ? " 

Again the woman said she could not tell. 

" We must go back," said the old man, hurriedly. "We 
must see what this is." 

" No, no," cried the child, detaining him. " E-emember 
what you promised. Our way is to the old green lane, 
where she and I so often were, and where you found us more 
than once making those garlands for her garden. Do not 
turn back ! " 

" Where is she now ? " said the old man. " Tell me that." 

" Do you not know ? " returned the child. " Did we not 
leave her but just now ? " 

" True. True. It icas her we left — was it ! " 

He pressed his hand upon his brow, looked vacantly round, 
and as if impelled by a sudden thought, crossed the road, and 
entered the sexton's house. He and his deaf assistant were 
sitting before the fire. Both rose up, on seeing who it was. 

The child made a hasty sign to them with his hand. It 
was the action of an instant, but that, and the old man's 
look, were quite enough. 

" Do you — do you bury any one to-day ? " he said eagerly. 



72 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

" No, no ! Who should we bury, sir ? " returned the 
sexton. 

" Ay, who indeed ! I say with you, who indeed ? " 

¥ It is a holiday with us, good sir," returned the sexton 
mildly. " We have no work to do to-day." 

" Why then, I'll go where you will," said the old man, 
turning to the child. " You're sure of what you tell me ? 
You would not deceive me ? I am changed even in the little 
time since you last saw me." 

" Go thy ways with him, sir," cried the sexton, " and 
Heaven be with ye both ! " 

" I am quite ready," said the old man, meekly. " Come, 
boy, come " — and so submitted to be led away. 

And now the bell — the bell she had so often heard by 
night and day, and listened to with solemn pleasure almost 
as a living voice — rung its remorseless toll for her, so young, 
so beautiful, so good. Decrepit age, and vigorous life, and 
blooming youth, and helpless infancy, poured forth — on 
crutches, in the pride of strength and health, in the full 
blush of promise, in the mere dawn of life — to gather round 
her tomb. Old men were there, whose eyes were dim and 
senses failing — grandmothers, who might have died ten years 
ago, and still been old — the deaf, the blind, the lame, the 
palsied, the living dead in many shapes and forms, to see the 
closing of that early grave. What was the death it would 
shut in, to that which still could crawl and creep above it ! 

Along the crowded path they bore her now ; pure as the 
newly-fallen snow that covered it ; whose day on earth had 
been as fleeting. Under that porch, where she had sat when 
Heaven in its mercy brought her to that peaceful spot, she 
passed again, and the old church received her in its quiet 
shade. 

They carried her to one old nook, where she had many . 
and many a time sat musing, and laid their burden softly 
on the pavement. The light streamed on it through the 
colored window — a window, where the boughs of trees 
were ever rustling in the summer, and where the birds sang 



BURIAL OF LITTLE NELL. 73 

sweetly all day long. With every breath of air that stirred 
among those branches in the sunshiny, some trembling, 
changing light, would fall upon her grave. 

Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Many a young 
hand dropped in its little wreath, may a stifled sob was 
heard. Some — and they were not a few — knelt down. All 
were sincere and truthful in their sorrow. 

The service done, the mourners stood apart, and the vil- 
lagers closed round to look into the grave before the pave- 
ment stone should be replaced. One called to mind how 
he had seen her sitting on that very spot, and how her 
book had fallen on her lap, and she was gazing with a pen- 
sive face upon the sky. Another told, how he had wondered 
much that one so delicate as she, should be so bold ; how 
she had never feared to enter the church alone at night, but 
had loved to linger there when all was quiet ; and even to 
climb the tower stair, with no more light than that of the 
moon rays stealing through the loopholes in the thick old 
wall. A whisper went about among the oldest there, that 
she had seen and talked with angels : and when they called 
to mind how she had looked, and spoken, and her early 
death, some thought it might be so indeed. Thus, coming 
to the grave in little knots, and glancing down, and giving 
place to others, and falling off in whispering groups of three 
or four, the church was cleared in time of all but the sexton 
and the mourning friends. 

They saw the vault covered and the stone fixed down. 
Then, when the dusk of evening had come on, and not a 
sound disturbed the sacred stillness of the place — when the 
bright moon poured in her light on tomb and monument, 
on pillar, wall, and arch, and most of all (it seemed to them) 
upon her quiet grave — in that calm time, when all outward 
things and inward thoughts teem with assurance of immor- 
tality, and worldly hopes. and fears are humbled in the dust 
before them — then, with tranquil and submissive hearts they 
turned away, and left the child with God. 

Oh ! it is hard to take to heart the lesson that such deaths 



74 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

will teach, but let no man reject it, for it is one that all must 
learn, and is a mighty universal Truth. When Death stikes 
down the innocent and young, for every fragile form from 
which he lets the panting spirit free, a hundred virtues rise, 
in shapes of mercy, charity, and love, to walk the world, 
and bless it with their light. Of every tear that sorrowing 
mortals shed on such green graves, some good is born, some 
gentler nature comes. In the Destroyer's steps there spring 
up bright creations that defy his power, and his dark path 
becomes a way of light to Heaven. 



THE PICKET-GUABD. 

ANONYMOUS. 

" All quiet along the Potomac/' they say, 

" Except now and then a stray picket 
Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro, 

By a rifleman hid in the thicket. 
'Tis nothing : a private or two, now and then, 

Will not count in the news of the battle ; 
Not an officer lost, — only one of the men, 

Moaning out, all alone, the death rattle." 

All quiet along the Potomac to-night, 

Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming : 

Their tents, in the rays of the clear autumn moon, 
Or the light of the watch-fires, are gleaming. 

A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night wind 
Through the forest leaves softly is creeping ; 

While stars up above, with their glittering eyes, 
Keep guard, — for the army is sleeping. 

There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread 
As he tramps from the rock to the fountain. 

And he thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed, 
Far away in the cot on the mountain. 

His musket falls slack ; his face, dark and grim, 
Grows gentle with memories tender, 



THE POOR MAN AND THE FIEND. 75 

As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep, — 
For their mother, — may Heaven defend her ! 

The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then, 

That night when the love yet unspoken 
Leaped up to his lips, — when low, murmured vows 

Were pledged to be ever unbroken, 
Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, 

He dashes off tears that are welling, 
And gathers his gun closer up to its place, 

As if to keep down the heart- swelling. 

He passes the fountain, the blasted pine-tree, — 

The foot-step is lagging and weary ; 
Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light, 

Toward the shades of the forest so dreary. 
Hark ! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves 7 

Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing ] 
It looked like a rifle : " Ha ! Mary, good-bye ! " 

And the life-blood is ebbing and plashing. 

All quiet along the Potomac to-night, — 

No sound save the rush of the river ; 
While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead, — 

The picket's off duty forever. 



THE POOE MAN AND THE EIEND. 

REV. MB. aiACLELLAN. 

A Fiend once met a humble man 

At night, in the cold dark street, 
And led him into a palace fair, 

Where music circled sweet ; 
And light and warmth cheered the wanderer's heart, 

From frost and darkness screened, 
Till his brain grew mad beneath the joy, 

And he worshipped before the Fiend. 



76 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Ah ! well if he ne'er had knelt to that Fiend, 

For a task-master grim was he ; 
And he said, " One-half of thy life on earth 

I enjoin thee to yield to me ; 
And when, from rising till set of sun, 

Thou hast toiled in the heat or snow, 
Let thy gains on mine altar an offering be ;" 

And the poor man ne'er said " No ! " 

The poor man had health, more dear than gold ; 

Stout bone and muscle strong, 
That neither faint nor weary grew, 

To toil the June day long ; 
And the Fiend, his god, cried hoarse and loud, 

" Thy strength thou must forego, 
Or thou no worshipper art of mine ;" 

And the poor man ne'er said " No ! " 

Three children blest the poor man's home- 
Stray angels dropped on earth — 

The Fiend beheld their sweet blue eyes, 
And he laughed in fearful mirth : 

11 Bring forth thy little ones/' quoth he, 
" My godhead wills it so ! 

I want an evening sacrifice ;" 

And the poor man ne'er said " No ! " 

A young wife sat by the poor man's fire, 

Who, since she blushed a bride, 
Had gilded his sorrow, and brightened his joys 

His guardian, friend, and guide. 
Foul fall the Fiend ! he gave command, 

" Come, mix the cup of woe, 
Bid thy young wife drain it to the dregs j" 

And the poor man ne'er said "No! " 

Oh ! misery now for this poor man ! 

Oh ! deepest of misery ! 
Next the Fiend his godlike Reason took, 

And amongst beasts fed he ; 



OUR country's call. 77 

And uhen the sentinel Mind was gone, 

He pilfered his Soul also ; 
And — marvel of marvels ! — he murmured not ; 

The poor man ne'er said " No ! " 

Now, men and matrons in your prime, 

Children and grandsires old, 
Come listen, with soul as well as ear, 

This saying whilst I unfold ; 
Oh, listen ! till your brain whirls round, 

And your heart is sick to think, 
That in England's isle all this befell, 

And the name of the Fiend was — Drink ! 



OUE COUNTBY'S CALL. 

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 

Lay down the axe, fling by the spade : 

Leave in its track the toiling plough ; 
The rifle and the bayonet-blade 

For arms like yours were fitter now ; 
And let the hands that ply the pen 

Quit the light task, and learn to wield 
The horseman's crooked brand, and rein 

The charger on the battle-field. 

Our country calls ; away ! away ! 

To wiiere the blood-stream blots the green. 
Strike to defend the gentlest sway 

That Time in all its course has seen. 
See, from a thousand coverts — see 

Spring the armed foes that haunt her track ; 
They rush to smite her down, and we 

Must beat the banded traitors back. 

Ho ! sturdy as the oaks ye cleave, 

And moved as soon to fear and flight, 



78 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Men of the glade and forest ! leave 

Your woodcraft for the field of fight. 

The arms that wield the axe must pour 
An iron tempest on the foe ; 

His serried ranks shall reel before 
The arm that lays the panther low. 

And ye who breast the mountain storm 

By grassy steep or highland lake, 
Come, for the land ye love, to form 

A bulwark that no foe can break. 
Stand, like your own grey cliffs that mock 

The whirlwind ; stand in her defence : 
The blast as soon shall move the rock, 

As rushing squadrons bear ye thence. 

And ye, whose homes are by her grand 

Swift rivers, rising far away, 
Come from the depths of her green land 

As mighty in your march as they ; 
As terrible as when the rains 

Have swelled them over bank and bourne 
"With sudden floods to drown the plains 

And sweep along the woods uptorn. 

And ye who throng beside the deep, 

Her ports and hamlets of the strand, 
In number like the waves that leap 

On his long murmuring marge of sand, 
Come, like that deep, when o'er his brim 

He rises, all his floods to pour, 
And flings the proudest barks that swim 

A helpless wreck against his shore. 

Few, few were they whose swords of old 
Won the fair land in which we dwell ; 

But we are many, we who hold 
The grim resolve to guard it well. 



THE orphan's triumph. 79 

Strike for that broad and goodly land 

Blow after blow, till men shall see 
That Might and Right move hand in hand, 

And glorious must their triumph be. 



THE OKPHANS TEIUMPH. 

A COLLOQUY IN THREE SCENES. 

F. B. WILSON. 



(ftfraracters. 



Amy Hartwell, the Orphan, 

Hattie Ainsworth, Amt's/h^, 

Jane Sanders, 

Fannie Blanchard, 

Mrs. Ainsworth, 

Mrs. Granton, a heartless widow. 

Scene I. — A parlor. Number of ladies seated, employed in various 
hinds of work. Mrs. Ainsworth, Miss Hattie Ainsworth, Miss 
Jane Sanders, Miss Fannie Blanchard, Mrs. Granton, and 

others. 

Miss Jane Sanders. What an excitement Mr. Hart- 
well's failure created in our little quiet city ! indeed we have 
hardly gotten over the shock as yet. I wonder what next 
will take place to cause an excitement. I do think it is so 
dull here. 

Miss Fannie Blanchard. Such incidents as that do 
change the monotony of city life. But I wonder what 
Miss Hartwell will do to support herself ; she is so young, 
has never done any work, and I suppose she would rather 
beg than work. I do not pity her in the least. She always 
appeared to esteem herself above the other ladies in the 
city. I think this will have a tendency to lower her pride. 

Jane. She has kept herself very close since her father's 



80 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

failure. I wonder if she thinks any one will sympathize with 
her ? 

Mrs. Ainsworth. I know how to feel for her. Left 
motherless when but a child, her whole heart was filled 
with love to her kind father. His failure might have 
caused her pain, but his failure and his death must well 
nigh crush her young spirit. Hattie has been to see her 
several times during the last few days, but 'tis hard to give 
consolation in an hour of such deep sorrow. 

Fannie. Yet can you feel pained to see her in such a sit- 
uation ? You must certainly know that pride is the cause 
of this great sorrow. 

Mrs. Ainsworth. Amy is not proud. She is too pure, 
too good, too innocent, to have any feeling of foolish pride. 
You know her not when you say that pride is the cause of 
her sorrow. 'Tis the love she bore her father. "When he 
knew of his failure the blow was so severe it caused his 
death. Amy is now alone in the world. Poor, no friends 
to care for her, none to love. 

Mrs. Granton. It seems to me we are becoming con- 
cerned in the welfare of those we hardly know. A man 
fails ! a man dies ! and all the city comment. Some with 
feigned pity, some with joy. Yet few that pity feel the force 
of their sayings. Let us change the subject, and have some- 
thing lively to intersperse our conversation. I for one am 
not partial to subjects that call forth sorrowful feelings. 
My theory is the theory of the world ; a man fails in business 
and he loses his position in society, and he takes his family 
with him. If we have sought their society prior to this, we 
should now shun it. ( Walks up and down stage.) Life has its 
ups and downs ; some are ever joyful and ever happy. I 
hate those that always frown. (Sings — dell rings.) 

Mrs. Ainsworth. The tea bell ; come ladies all. (Exeunt 
all but Hattie Ainsworth.) 

Miss Hattie Ainsworth. Must I believe that that com- 
pany have expressed the sentiments of the place ? Is there 
no one who will lend a helping hand to my dear friend 



THE ORPHAN'S TRIUMPH. 81 

Amy ? Oh ! what a heartless world is this. How cruel ! 

hcAv cruel ! Yet I will ever be her friend. I will ever be 

near to assist and comfort her. Few know Amy as I know 

her ; few feel toward her as I do ; and hand in hand we will 

travel together. One thought comes : "Will it — will it change 

the mind of him, who, a short time ago pledged her his 

love ; and then, with her consent, joined the ranks of the 

defenders of human liberty. Why think a moment of this ? 

He cannot, he will not prove false. Poverty may be her lot, 

friends may fail her, yet I believe Mr. Branton will ever be 

true. 

Enter Mrs. Geanton, l. 

Mrs. Graxtox. I left the paper here ; I came to get it to 
read at the table. Why do you not come to tea, Hattie, 
child ? 

Hattie. I feel so badly when I think of poor Amy Hart- 
well. Mrs. Granton, you know not how much I love her. 

Mrs. Graxtox. Why let her misfortune trouble you? 
How foolish you are. {Laughs.) Just drop her name from 
your list of acquaintances — think no more of her. {Aside.) 
What strange people there are in this world. Some would 
spend their whole life in weeping, I really believe ; but I 
am not one of the number. No ! no ! Catch me crying and 
mourning because one friend dies. Why, when my husband 
died, I never shed a single tear ; yet I pitied the poor man. 
He is the only husband I ever had, but I think that I may 
get another yet. (Sighs.) Some ladies get married that are 
older than I. When I think of my poor husband I cannot 
but laugh, he was so peculiar. He used often ask me if I 
was entirely heartless. Just as though there was such a 
thing as a heart. He well knew that I was determined to 
have my own way, and coaxing and persuasion couldn't 
move me. My advice to all married ladies is — let your hus- 
band know whose mistress. (Turns to Hattie.) What, Hattie, 
crying ? Some people always cry when they would laugh ; 
perhaps 'tis so with Hattie. (Bell rings.) The tea bell rings 
again ; come, Hattie ! (Exit.) 



82 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Hattie. I am alone again * how I dread that woman's 
presence. How different is she from my mother ! Ai8y 
claims all my thoughts at present. (Bell rings.) The door 
bell. Would that Amy is the one ushered in. 

Door opens. Enter Amy. Embrace, 

Miss Amy Hartwell. I have come to see you, Hattie, at 
last. This is the first time I have been from home since dear 
pa's death. Oh ! how blank, how blank appears the world 
to me. My heart is bowed down with grief. To you alone 
can I come for consolation. Do you know, Hattie, that you 
are the only one that has called and spoken kind words to 
me since pa's death. To you would I confide all at this 
time. You will not forsake me, will you, Hattie ? 

Hattie. Dearest Amy, nothing can sever my love for you. 
Dearer are you now than ever. Tell me anything, every- 
thing, and if I can aid you in any manner, gladly will I 
assist you all in my power. 

Amy. My father's creditors will take everything. Yet 
pa's lawyer tells me that all his debts can be paid and my 
piano, library, etc., will not be taken from me. I am glad 
to think that no one will suffer but myself. Every dollar of 
pa's debts will be paid. Now, Hattie, I must do something 
to support myself. I can teach music, French, and paint- 
ing, and I want you to assist me in getting up classes. I 
must go at work at once. 

Hattie. You need not teach, Amy ; ma has told me to 
have you come and live with me. You know I intimated it 
to you yesterday. 

Amy. I could not be happy, Hattie, feeling that I was a 
dependent. I will stay with you for a short time, but I am 
determined to support myself. You are very kind. My 
truest and best friend. God will reward you if I never 
can. 

Hattie. I cannot bear the idea of your teaching, Amy. 
Come and live with me, and we will talk of this again. 



THE orphan's triumph. 83 

God does nothing womg. (Amy leans her head on Hattie's 
shoulder.) He will ever be our friend. 

CURTAIN. 

Scene II. — Same as Scene I. Amy seated alone. 

Amy. 'Tis now six months since dear pa died. All who 
were proud to call me their friend then, have deserted me, 
except dear Mrs. Ainsworth and Hattie ; never could I for- 
get their kindness. My income from my classes makes me 
a comfortable living. Yet there is a blank that cannot be 
filled. I wonder why it is that he does not write. Strange ! 
I have written several letters and received no answer. Can 
it be that he will — No ! I will not think it. Yet his name 
has not appeared on the list of wounded or killed after any 
battle. "What can it mean ? God grant that he may yet 
live ! May he be sustained and preserved by that all-wise 
Being. 

Enter Mrs. Ainsworth, l. 

Mrs. Ainsworth. You will try and be back from your 
classes early to-day, will you not, Amy ? I expect the Misses 
Sanders and Blanchard at tea this afternoon, also, Mrs. 
Granton. 

Amy. I do not believe that any of them would care for 
my company. Not one of them will recognize me in the 
street when I meet them ; so you will excuse me, Mrs. Ains- 
worth, if I should not be back in time to see them ? 

Mrs. Ainsworth. I did not know, Amy, that this was the 
case ; but act your own pleasure. I would like to see you 
go in society more than you do. You will wear yourself 
out with your weary labors. 

Amy. Society has no charms for me now ; my thoughts 
are far away. Yes, Mrs. Ainsworth, you know what I would 
say. Mystery surrounds me on every hand. Good morn- 
ing, my dear protector. (Kisses her. Exit.) 

Mrs. Ainsworth. There goes one whose heart is pure, 
innocent, and yet troubled. Her affection is so deep, so 



84 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

earnest, who could help loving her ? Yes, I know what she 
would say. A lover's long silence causes her deep grief. 
Can it be that he will leave her ? Can it be that money 
taught him to love Amy Hartwell ? I will not believe it. 
He, too, was noble, generous, and brave. Like many other 
noble young men, he went to battle for the preservation of 
right; and to uphold his country's banner unstained. 
Wealth, friends and luxury surrounded him on every hand ; 
yet he could not resist his country's call. All honor to the 
battle- worn heroes, who are now suffering that the nation 
may live. I trust that the hand which leads the armies 
forth to battle, which sustains the weary soldiers, will still 
guide him and restore him to his loved home in safety. (Exit.) 

Enter Jane Sanders and Fannie Blanchard. Come to front of 

stage. 

Jane. How well our little plot has succeeded! Little 
does she think that I have been receiving and reading the 
letters written to and by her. But I fear I shall not have 
the pleasure of reading any more of them, for it is now 
nearly two months since he has written. 

Fannie. You have been successful, truly. During my 
absence from the city, you gave me to understand in your 
letters that our plot was successful ; yet you did not tell me 
all the particulars connected with it. I cannot understand 
it all. How did you manage to intercept her letters. 

Jane. My cousin, you know, is assistant postmaster. I 
let him into the secret. I told him that any letters Amy 
Hartwell sent to Mr. Branton must not leave the office ; 
and also, all letters that came to her from him must be 
handed to me. Wasn't it splendid ? I have had the benefit 
of all their correspondence, free gratis. (Laughs.) I think it 
will prove very beneficial to me in my epistolary corres- 
pondence hereafter. Good practical hints, you know ? 

Fannie. Indeed they will be ! Now you must let me read 
them some time. I shall enjoy it very much. But Jane, 



THE orphan's TRIUMPH. 85 

have you any reason to feel encouraged in this matter. Do 
you really think Mr. Branton will forget her ? 

Jaxe. Oh ! yes ; I can see my way clear, though he wrote 
some very nice letters to Miss Hartwell after the news of 
her father's failure reached him. But you know, Fannie, he 
never could marry her now. Just think ; a poor teacher ; 
Mr. Branton would never stoop so low. 

Faxxie. I always thought that he used to be quite partial 
to you. I am glad you have succeeded so well. I wonder 
where Miss Amy is to-day ? Mrs. Ains worth has taken an 
especial interest in her welfare, it seems to me. 

Jane. Yes ; I wonder at it ; and Hattie is quite doting. I 
do not like it at all ; shall speak with Hattie to-day. She 
will certainly lose the respect of her associates if she con- 
tinues to show so much favor to Amy Hartwell. 

Enter Mrs. Ains worth and Granton, l. 

Mrs. Graxtox. Enjoying yourselves I suppose, girls ? 
That's right. I don't wonder you seek a quiet place. Girls 
will be girls. Nor wiU they ever trust their love secrets 
with a widow. Why is it ? 

Jaxe. Cannot you answer the question, Mrs. Granton ? 
Truly, there must be a reason, but I cannot tell it. 

Mrs. Graxtox. {Laughs.) Because she knows too much. 
Love ! nonsense ! pooh ! Ask Mrs. Ainsworth to define it ; 
she will tell you 'tis but the wild dreams of foolish maidens. 
A mere fancy. 

Mrs. Aixsworth. Your experience in life, Mrs. Granton, 
and mine are very different. The true woman loves her 
husband devotedly ; words fail to describe it. 

Mrs. Graxtox. Well, I'll not argue; I don't like to 
trouble my brain enough for that. But you do remind me 
of some of the characters represented in the current litera- 
ture of the day. A fancied idea existing in the brain of 
some poor author ; all delusion. Why should we pretend 
to feel sad when we are joyous. Only the next evening after 
my husband's death I attended a ball. What a magnificent 



86 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

time we had. I almost wished he were there to enjoy it. 
{Laughs.) Foolish wish, wasn't it ? He is undoubtedly bet- 
ter off ; he has now no wife to quarrel with him ; and she 
has no husband to pester her. {Laughs.) 

Enter Hattie Ainsworth, l. 

FANNIE. Has Miss Hartwell returned from her classes P 

Hattie. I think not ; she does not return until late, gen- 
erally. Her classes keep her very busy during the week. 
Saturday and the Sabbath are the only days she has for 
rest, poor girl ! 

J axe. Why should you feel so badly on her account ? She 
ought feel very grateful for what you have already done. 

Hattie. She does feel grateful ; and many a little kind- 
ness, many a gentle word, many a sweet whisper assures me 
that she does not forget, nor fail to duly appreciate every 
kindness or look she receives from me. 

Mrs. Graxtox. Come, Hattie, let us go into the parlor and 
have some music. (Aside.) Anything to change the subject. 
(Aloud.) Perhaps we may have some dancing, too ; yet that 
would be dry without some gentlemen. But when I attend- 
ed boarding school, I was sent to an institution composed 
exclusively of young ladies, and we used to have some jolly 
dances, though our partners were ladies. (Exeunt all. Mrs. 
Graxtox comes back.) 

Mrs. Graxtox. And I forgot my fan ; just like me. Mr. 
Havner passed along the street, too. Had I my fan I might 
have displayed my diamond ring, but — well — I will not 
trouble my poor brain about the dear man. Husbands are 
a nuisance, but lovers are — are — are — I can't think what it 
is — Oh ! yes — they're fools. (Exit.) 

CURTAIX. 

Scene III. — Same as Scene I. and II. Tlwee years interval. 
Fannie and Jane standing near each other. 

Jane. Yesterday the gallant regiment returned, but he 



the orphan's triumph. 87 

did not come. Why is this ? Many others have been struck 
down, yet his name has never entered the fatal list. 

Faxxie. He may have been promoted ; possibly he does 
not now belong to the regiment ? Perhaps he has no desire 
to return to the city again ; but has gone to seek another 
home ? 

JANE. I know not what to think. I have not questioned 
any of the soldiers as yet, concerning his welfare ; nor do I 
think I shall. Oh ! I hate the looks of those faded blue 
jackets. How different do the boys appear than they did 
when they went from home. 

Faxxie. I do not believe, Jane, that I shall ever associate 
with them again. They are so tanned, some of them have 
received such ugly wounds, I cannot endure them at all. 
But we made a grand display when they returned, didn't we ? 

Jaxe. I had a gay time that day. 

Enter, unperceived by them, Hattie, l. 

I expected to see Mr. Branton ; had a splendid bouquet 
made expressly for him. 

Faxxie. Have you heard anything directly from him 
lately ? 

JaXe. Well, no, not exactly direct. But he writes, or — 
that is — he <iid write to my cousin ; always sent some mis- 
sive to me, you know. I have certainly gained one point if 
I have lost another ; though he may never call me wife, I 
am sure that Miss Amy will never be more to him than she 
now is. 

Faxxie. What a funny little plot we made ? Who would 
have thought that we had such inventive brains ? Couldn't 
we make quite a story of it, Jane ? All that is now neces- 
sary to make the story read well, is, for Mr. Branton to 
return and marry you. We could give our story that old 
name, " Pride must have a fall." The letters that you inter- 
cepted would be an exhibition of true love, you know. 
Amy's circumstances are a little too pleasant to make the 
story real interesting, but we could fix that all right. 



88 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Hattie. (Aside.) I — I know it all. The secret — the plot 
is now known to me. I will go, and if possible, make Amy 
happy yet. (Exit.) 

Enter Mrs. Granton, R. 

Mrs. Granton. Quite exciting times we had yesterday ? 
How patriotic are the ladies of this city ! Everybody says 
so. (Laughs.) How many covered their eyes, not to restrain 
the tears, for no traces of tears could be found there, but to 
make others think they could not be comforted. I thought 
they all enjoyed themselves hugely at the dance last evening. 
Didn't we have a grand time, girls ? "Widower Panson was 
positively charmed with me. 

Jane. Would that a regiment would return every week, if 
such pleasant scenes would take place ! 

Mrs. Granton. Then we get so many compliments for our 
patriotism ! so many good wishes ; but I must go. I have 
some shopping to which I must attend. (Aside.) There is such 
a splendid clerk in the corner store, he is just — just — well, if 
you knew him you would not deny it. 

Jane. "Wo will accompany you. (Exeunt ally R.) 

Enter Amy, l. 

Amy. Though troubled, weary and care-worn, time seems 
to pass with wonderful rapidity. Weeks, months, and years 
have rolled away since last I met him. A long silence un- 
broken remains. Oh ! that my terrible doubts were dis- 
pelled ! Can it be that he has perished ? Can it bcthat his 
life was required for the establishment of freedom and union ? 
Or has he deserted me ? I know I am not worthy of him ; I 
know he is noble, and that he will become honored. Why 
did he not write me and tell me to think no more of him ? 
Why has he not come with the regiment ? Who can answer 
these questions ? Who can disperse my doubts ? Where is 
Hattie at this time ? She perhaps can — no ! no ! none can 
solve the mystery. A thought ; come, I will write to the 
commanding officer of the regiment, and, if possible, learn 



POEM AT GETTYSBURG. 89 

where he is ; this is my last hope, this will forever dispel 
my anxiety. I tremble to think of it, yet— 

Enter Hattie, r. 

Hattie. I have good news for you, Amy. The story is 
a long one, but I will try to be brief. [Takes both A^iy's hands 
in Jier own.) I have been to see the Colonel of the regiment, 
and have learned that Mr. Branton is still alive, still loves 
you. He has been on detached service much of the time 
and none of your letters have reached him. I overheard the 
Misses Sanders and Blanchard talking this morning, and 
learned from them that they had intercepted both your let- 
ters and his. 'Twas a deep, dark plot, but I rejoice with 
you to-night, that their scheme was fruitless and that Mr. 
Branton is still true. 

Amy. I cannot tell you, Hattie, the deep, pure joy that fills 
my soul. Yes, I am happy to-night, and I can truly say 
that I forgive the plotters their dreadful wrong, and now 
leave them to make their peace with God. 

GURTA1K 



POEM BEAD AT THE FOUNDING OE GETTYS- 
BURG MONUMENT. 

COLONEL C. G. HALPINE (MILES o'REILLEY). 

As men beneath some pang of grief, 

Or sudden joy will dumbly stand, 

Finding no words to give relief 

Clear, passion-warm, complete and brief 

To thoughts with which their souls expand, 

So here to-day, those trophies nigh, 

No fitting words our lips can reach ; 

The hills around, the graves, the sky, 

The silent poem of the eye, 

Surpasses all the art of speech ! 



90 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

To-day a nation meets to build 
A nation's trophy to the dead, 
Who, living, formed her sword and shield, 
The arms she sadly learned to wield, 
When other hope of peace had fled ; 
And not alone for those who be 
In honored graves before us blest, 
Shall our proud column, broad and high, 
Climb upward to the blessing sky, 
But be for all a monument. 

An emblem of our grief as well 
For others, as for these, we raise ; 
For these beneath our feet who dwell, 
And all who in the good cause fell, 
On other fields in other frays. 
To all the self-same love we bear 
Which here for marbled memory strives ; 
No soldier for a wreath would care, 
Which all true comrades might not share, 
Brothers in death as in their lives. 

On Southern hill-sides, parched and brown, 
In tangled swamps, on verdant ridge, 
Where pines and broadening oaks look down, 
And jasmine weaves its yellow crown, 
And trumpet creepers clothe the hedge, 
Along the shores of endless sand, 
Beneath the palms of Southern plains, 
Sleep everywhere, hand locked in hand, 
The brothers of the gallant band 
Who here poured life though throbbing veins. 

Around the closing eyes of all, 
The same red glories glared and flew ; 
The hurrying flags, the bugle call, 
The whistle of the angry ball, 
The elbow-touch of comrade true, 
The skirmish fire, a spattering spray, 



POEM AT GETTYSBURG. 91 

The long sharp growl of fire by file, 
The thick'ning fury of the fray 
When opening batteries get in play, 
And the lines form o'er many a mile. 

The foeman's yell, our answering cheer, 
Red flashes though the gathering smoke, 
Swift orders, resonant and clear, 
Blithe cries from comrades, tried and dear, 
The shell-scream and the sabre stroke, 
The volley fire, from left to right, 
From right to left, we hear it swell, 
The headlong charges, swift and bright, 
The thickening tumult of the fight, 
And bursting thunders of the shell. 

Now closer, denser, grows the strife, 
And here we yield, and there we gain ; 
The air with hurtling missiles rife, 
Volley for volley, life for life ; 
No time to heed the cries of pain. 
Panting, as up the hills we charge, 
Or down them as we broken roll, 
Life never felt so high, so large, 
And never o'er so wide a range 
In triumph swept the kindling soul. 

New raptures waken in the breast, 
Amid this hell of scene and sound, 
The barking batteries never rest, 
And broken foot, by horsemen pressed, 
Still stubbornly contest their ground ; 
Fresh waves of battle rolling in, 
To take the place of shattered waves ; 
Torn lines that grow more bent and thin, 
A blinding cloud, a maddening din, 
'Twas then we filled these very graves. 
******** 
Night falls at length with pitying veil, 



92 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

A moonlit silence, deep and fresh. 

These upturned faces, stained and pale, 

Vainly the chill night dews assail ; 

Far colder than the dews their flesh. 

And flickering far, through brush and wood, 

Go searching parties, torch in hand. 

Seize if you can some rest and food, 

At dawn the fight will be renewed, 

" Sleep on arms ! " the hushed command. 

They talk in whispers as they lie 

In line, these rough and weary men. 

" Dead or but wounded 1 " then a sigh ; 

11 No coffin either ] " " Guess we'll try 

To get those two guns back again." 

" We've five flags to their one, oho ! " 

" That bridge ! 'Twas not there as we passed ;" 

" The Colonel dead 1 It can't be so. 

Wounded, badly, that I know, 

But he kept saddle to the last." 

" Be sure to send it if I fall ;" 

" Any tobacco 1 Bill, have you 1 " 

" A brown- hair' d, blue-eyed, laughing doll ;" 

" Good-night, boys, and God keep you all." 

" What, sound asleep 1 Guess I'll sleep too.'* 

11 Aye, just about this hour they pray 

For dad." " Stop talking, pass the word ;" 

And soon as quite as the clay 

Which thousands will but be next day, 

The long-drawn sighs of sleep are heard. 



Oh ! men, to whom this sketch, though rude, 
Calls back some scene of pain and pride ; 
Oh ! widow, hugging close your brood, 
Oh ! wife, with happiness renewed, 
Since he again is at your side ; 



POEM AT GETTYSBURG. 93 

This trophy that to-day we raise 
Should be a monument for all, 
And on its side no niggard phrase 
Confine a generous nation's praise 
To those who here have chanced to fall. 

But let us all to-day combine 
Still other monuments to rise ; 
Here for the dead we build a shrine, 
And now to those who crippled pine 
Let us give hope of happier days. 
Let homes of those sad wrecks of war 
Through all the land with speed arise ; 
They cry from every gaping scar, 
" Let not our brother's tomb debar 
The wounded living from your eyes." 

A noble day, a deed as good, 

A noble scene in which 'tis done, 

The birth-day of our nationhood, 

And here again the nation stood, 

On this same day its life renown. 

A bloom of banners in the air, 

A double calm of sky and soul, 

Triumphal chant and bugle blare, 

And green fields spreading bright and fair, 

As heavenward our hosannas roll. 

Hosannas for a land redeemed, 
The bayonet sheathed, the cannon dumb ; 
Passed as some horror we have dreamed, 
The fiery meteors that here streamed, 
Threat'ning within our homes to come. 
Again our banner floats abroad, 
Gone the one stain that on it fell ; 
And bettered by his chast'ning rod, 
With streaming eyes uplift to God, 
We say, " He doeth all things well." 



94 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 



SPAETACUS TO THE GLADIATOES. 



It had been a day of triumph at Capua. Lentulus, return- 
ing with victorious eagles, had amused the populace with 
the sports of the amphitheatre to an extent hitherto un- 
known, even in that luxurious city. The shouts of revel- 
ry had died away ; the roar of the lion had ceased ; the 
last loiterers had retired from the banquet ; and the lights 
in the palace of the victor were extinguished. The moon, 
piercing the tissue of fleecy clouds, silvered the dew-drops on 
the corslet of the Roman sentinel and tipped the dark waters 
of Vulturnus with a wavy, tremulous light. 

No sound was heard save the last sob of some retiring 
wave, telling its story to the smooth pebbles of the beach ; 
and then all was still as the breast when the spirit has de- 
parted. In the deep recesses of the amphitheatre, a band 
of gladiators assembled ; their muscles still knotted with the 
agony of conflict, the foam upon their lips, the scowl of 
battle yet lingering on their brows ; when Spartacus, start- 
ing forth from amid the throng, thus addressed them : — " Ye 
call me chief, and ye do well to call Mm chief who, for twelve 
long years, has met upon the arena every shape of man or 
beast the broad empire of Rome could furnish, and who 
never yet lowered his arm. If there be one among you who 
can say that ever, in public fight or private brawl, my actions 
did belie my tongue, let him stand forth and say it. If 
there be three in all your company dare face me on the 
bloody sands, let them come on. And yet I was not always 
thus, — a hired butcher, a savage chief of still more savage 
men! My ancestors came from old Sparta, and settled 
among the vine-clad rocks and citron groves of Syrasella. 
My early life ran quiet as the brooks by which I sported ; 
and when at noon I gathered the sheep beneath the shade, 
and played upon the shepherd's flute, there was a friend, the 
son of a neighbor, to join me in the pastime. "We led 



SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS. 95 

our flocks to the same pasture, and partook together our 
rustic meal. One evening, after the sheep were folded, and 
we were all seated beneath the myrtle which shaded our 
cottage, my grandsire, an old man, was telling of Ma- 
rathon and Leuctra ; and how, in ancient times, a little 
band of Spartans, in a defile of the mountains, had 
withstood a whole army. I did not then know what war 
was ; but my cheeks burned, I knew not why ; and I clasped 
the knees of that venerable man, until my mother, parting 
the hair from off my forehead, kissed my throbbing temples, 
and bade me go to rest, and think no more of those old tales 
and savage wars. That very night the Eomans landed on. 
our coast. I saw the breast that had nourished me, trampled 
by the hoof of the war-horse ; the bleeding body of my father 
flung amidst the blazing rafters of our dwelling ! To-day I 
killed a man in the arena ; and when I broke his helmet 
clasps, behold it was my friend. He knew me, smiled faintly, 
gasped, and died ; the same sweet smile upon his lips that I 
had marked, when, in adventurous boyhood, we scaled the 
lofty cliff to pluck the first ripe grapes, and bear them home in 
childish triumph. I told the praetor that the dead man had 
been my friend, generous and brave, and I begged that I 
might bear away the body, to burn it on a funeral pile, 
and mourn over its ashes. Ay ! upon my knees, amid the 
dust and blood of the arena, I begged that poor boon, while 
all the assembled maids and matrons, and the holy virgins 
they call vestals, and the rabble shouted in derision ; 
deeming it rare sport, forsooth, to see Rome's fiercest gladia- 
tor turn pale and tremble at the sight of that piece of bleed- 
ing clay ! 

And the praetor drew back as if I were pollution, and sternly 
said : — Let the carrion rot ; there are no noble men but Ro- 
mans ! And so, fellow-gladiators, must you, and so must I, 
die like dogs. Oh, Eome, Rome ! thou hast been a tender 
nurse to me ; ay, thou hast given to that poor, gentle, timid 
shepherd lad, who never knew a harsher tone than a flute 
note, muscles of iron and a heart of flint ; taught him to 



96 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

drive the sword through plated mail and links of rugged brass, 
and warni it in the marrow of his foe ; to gaze into the glar- 
ing eyeballs of the fierce Kumidian lion, even as a boy upon 
a laughing girl ! And he shall pay thee back, until the yel- 
low Tiber is red as frothing wine, and in its deepest ooze, 
thy life blood lies curdled ! 

" Ye stand here now like giants, as ye are. The strength of 
brass is in your toughened sinews; but to-morrow some 
Roman Adonis, breathing sweet perfume from his curly locks, 
shall with his lily fingers pat your red brawn and bet his 
sesterces upon your blood. Hark ! hear ye yon lion roaring 
in his den ? 'Tis three days since he tasted flesh ; but to- 
morrow he shall break his fast upon yours, and a dainty 
meal for him ye will be ! If ye are beasts then stand here 
like fat oxen, waiting for the butcher's knife ! If ye are men 
follow me ! Strike down your guard, gain the mountain 
passes, and there do bloody work, as did your sires at old 
Thermopylae ! Is Sparta dead ? Is the old Grecian spirit 
frozen in your veins, that you do crouch and cower like a 
belabored hound beneath his master's lash ? Oh, comrades ! 
warriors, Thracians ! If we must fight, let us fight for our- 
selves ! If we must slaughter, let us slaughter our oppressors ! 
If we must die, let it be under the clear sky, by the bright 
waters, in noble, honorable battle ! " 



SOLILOQUY OF THE DYING ALCHEMIST. 



The night wind with a desolate moan swept by ; 
And the old shutters of the turret swung, 
Creaking upon their hinges ; and the moon, 
As the torn edges of the clouds flew past. 
Struggled aslant the stained and broken panes 
So dimly, that the watchful eye of death 
Scarcely was conscious when it went and came. 



SOLILOQUY OF THE DYING ALCHEMIST. 97 

The fire beneath his crucible was low ; 
Yet still it burned ; and ever as his thoughts 
Grew insupportable, he raised himself 
Upon his wasted arm, and stirred the coals 
With difficult energy ; and when the rod 
Fell from his nerveless fingers, and his eye 
Felt faint within its socket, he shrunk back 
Upon his pallet, and with unclosed lips 
Muttered a curse on death ! 

The silent room, 
From its dim corners, mockingly gave back 
His rattling breath ; the humming in the fire 
Had the distinctness of a knell ; and* when 
Duly the antique horologe beat one, 
He drew a vial from beneath his head, 
And drank. And instantly his lips compressed, 
And, with a shudder in his skeleton frame, 
He rose with supernatural strength, and sat 
Upright, and communed with himself : — 

I did not think to die 
Till I had finished what I had to do : 
I thought to pierce the eternal secret through 

With this my mortal eye ; 
I felt, God ! It seemeth even now 
This cannot be the death- dew on my brow 

And yet it is, — I feel, 
Of this dull sickness at my heart, afraid ; 
And in my eyes the death-sparks flash and fade : 

And something seems to steal 
Over my bosom like a frozen hand, 
Binding its pulses with an icy band. 



And this is death ! But why 
Feel I this wild recoil 1 It cannot be 



98 KECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

The immortal spirit shuddereth to be free : 

Would it not leap to fly- 
Like a chained eaglet at its parents call 1 
I fear — I fear — that this poor life is all ! 

Yet thus to pass away ! — 
To live but for a hope that mocks at last,— 
To agonize, to strive, to watch, to fast, 

To waste the light of day, 
Night's better beauty, feeling, fancy, thought, 
All we have or are — for this — for naught. 

Grant me another year, 
God of my spirit ! — but a day, — to win 
Something to satisfy this thirst within • 

I would know something here ! 
Break for me but one seal that is unbroken ! 
Speak for me but one word that is unspoken ! 

Vain — vain ! — my brain is turning 
With a swift dizziness, and my heart grows sick, 
And these hot temple-throbs come fast and thick, 

And I am freezing — burning — 
Dying ! God ! if I might only live ! 
My vial Ha ! it thrills me ! — I revive. 

0, but for time to track 
The upper stars into the pathless sky,-— 
To see the invisible spirits, eye to eye, — 

To hurl the lightning back, — 
To tread unhurt the sea's dim-lighted halls, — 
To chase day's chariot to the horizon-walls,— 

And more, much more, — for row 
The life-sealed fountains of my nature move 
To nurse and purify this human love ; 

To clear the godlike brow 



SOLILOQUY OF THE DYING ALCHEMIST. 99 

Of weakness and mistrust, and bow it down, 
Worthy and beautiful, to the much-loved one. 

This were indeed to feel 
The soul-thirst slacken at the living stream, — 
To live — God ! that life is but a dream ! 

And death Aha ! I reel — 

Dim — dim — I faint — darkness comes o'er my eye ! 
Cover me ! save me ! God of heaven ! I die ! 

'Twas morning, and the old man lay alone. 
No friend had closed his eyelids, and his lips, 
Open and ashly pale, the expression wore 
Of his death-struggle. His long silvery hair 
Lay on his hollow temples thin and wild, 
His frame was wasted, and his features wan 
And haggard as with want, and in his palm 
His nails were driven deep, as if the throe 
Of the last agony had wrung him sore. 

The fire beneath the crucible was out ; 
The vessels of his mystic art lay round, 
Useless and cold as the ambitious hand 
That fashioned them, and the small rod, 
Familiar to his touch for three score years, 
Lay on the alembic's rim, as if it still 
Might vex the elements at its master's will. 

And thus had passed from its unequal frame 
A soul of fire, — a sun-bent eagle stricken 
From his high soaring down, — an instrument 
Broken with its own compass. 0, how poor 
Seems the rich gift cf genius, when it lies, 
Like the adventurous bird that hath outflown 
His strength upon the sea, ambition wrecked, — 
A thing the thrush might pity, as she sits 
Brooding in quiet on her lowly nest. 



100 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 



EECONSTEUCTION. 

A COLLOQUY IN TWO SCENES. 

F. B. WILSON. 



€\nnxKttztB. 



Goddess of Liberty. 

Negro Race, represented by a single person. 

Bremer, 

Thaltvorth, 






s Rebels seeking pardon. 
Farnton, 

Torteen, 

Costumes. — Goddess of Liberty — White dress covered with silver 
stars ; red and blue sash ; silvered crown ; liberty pole and cap by her 
side. Rebels — Citizen* % dress suit. Negro — Soldier's uniform; one 
hand in sling ; no cap. 

Scene I. — Goddess of Liberty seated; seat elevated. Stand 
near her covered with papers marked "Far don." She has some in her 
hand. 

Goddess. When cruel war was abroad on land and sea ; 
when my brave sons were giving their strength, that liberty 
might be established ; when I saw the mangled corpses on 
many a field of battle, my blood ran cold in my veins, and 
sickness brought me nigh to death. But God in his kind 
mercy spared me ; and America still lives. Though she has 
suffered a baptism of blood ; though her brave sons have 
fallen by thousands ; yet millions that were bound by the 
accursed chains of slavery are now free. Oh ! God, thou 
hast given many blessings to this people, and we pray thee 
that thou wilt not desert us, in this, our hour of greatest trial. 
The entreaties for " pardon" come to me from those who 
have, with the engines of war, attempted to crush the brave, 
loyal sons of America ; from those who have made the 
young wife a widow, and the motherless, orphans ; who 
have, by their fightings, left a vacant chair by every fireside 



RECONSTRUCTION. 101 

throughout the land. Now, can I grant them pardon ? Are 
they to be trusted ? Who but God can assist me to answer 
these questions that are thrust upon me for solution. But 
here come others to ask me to pardon their dreadful wrongs. 

Enter four rebels, Bremer, Thalworth, Farnton and Torteen. 
Goddess sits with head resting on hand. They arrange themselves in a 
semicircle around her. 

Bremer. Can we be restored to citizenship ? 

Thalworth. Can we have the rights of freemen restored 
to us? 

Farnton. Do you accept our entreaties for pardon ? 

Torteen. Have we our rights given us as before ? 

Goddess. Your questions are questions of great moment. 
They have a direct bearing on the interests of America. 
Can I trust you, who have for four years been enemies to 
me ? who have wealth and the power that wealth gives at 
your command r 

Bremer. Your interests are our interests ; your land is 
our land. We would not injure you, for in so doing we in- 
jure ourselves. 

Goddess. Why did you not think of that before rebellion 
spread over all our happy land ? why did you not use your 
influence to prevent a war ? why did you become our 
enemies ? 

Farnton. The questions you ask us are too severe. We 
would bury the past ; beg thy pardon for our many offences, 
and in the future endeavor to live as American's sons should 
live. 

Goddess. Yet I cannot trust you. You must make some 
sacrifice ere you can claim to be my sons. Your wealth 
gives you too great an influence. Many have been made 
poor by your own wickedness, and they have suffered 
enough. Take your wealth, give it to them, and then I will 
receive you as my children. Do this, become poor ; let those 
that are suffering the tortures of poverty be made happy by 
your wealth. Begin life again, and if you ever become 



102 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

wealthy let it be by honest toil. Until you do this, pardon 
will not be granted, [Rebels drop their heads) nor the rights 
of citizenship restored. (Music heard without.) 
CURTAIN-. 

Scene II. — No papers are to be seen. Goddess alone, standing. 

Goddess. Another important question is being discussed 
throughout our land. Shall the negro vote ? Shall color pre- 
vent an honest heart from the right of suffrage? God 
created all men free and equal. The black and the white 
man are subjects of his creation. They both have a never 
dying soul that is destined to live on and on forever. (Ad- 
vances, stands with hands clasped about liberty pole, head resting on 
them. Negro enters, kneels at her feet.) Your master was 
restored to citizenship by giving up a few paltry dollars. 
He fought my sons, and hurled death's missive in their 
brave ranks. He is pardoned. If I can trust him, can I 
not trust you ? You, who have aided my sons in breaking 
down this terrible rebellion ? God grant that my decision 
may not be a wrong decision. The black man shall vote. 
(Negro rises.) He is free, and we pray thee, God, to grant 
thy blessing on a down-trodden and wronged race. (Takes Negro 
by hand, points to banner.) Look upon that flag ; emblem of 
the institutions for which you have been fighting. There 
are red lines of blood, and white lines of spirit truth. In 
saying you may exercise the right of suffrage, I help you on 
the white line. Walk uprightly, honor your country and your 
God. (Music, as curtain falls.) 

CURTAIN. 



UNJUST NATIONAL ACQUISITION. 

THOMAS CORWIN. 

Mr. President, the uneasy desire to augment our terri- 
tory has depraved the moral sense and blighted the other- 
wise keen sagacity of our people. Sad, very sad, are the 



UNJUST NATIONAL ACQUISITION. 103 

lessons which Time has written for us. Through and in 
them all I see nothing but the inflexible execution of that 
old law which ordains, as eternal, the cardinal rule, " Thou 
shalt not covet thy neighbor's goods, nor anything which is 
his." Since I have lately heard so much about the dismem- 
berment of Mexico, I have looked back to see how, in the 
course of events, which some call " Providence," it has fared 
with other nations who engaged in this work of dismember- 
ment. 

I see that in the latter half of the eighteenth century, 
three powerful nations, Russia, Austria and Prussia, united 
in the dismemberment of Poland. They said, too, as you 
say, " It is our destiny." They " wanted room." Doubtless 
each of these thought, with his share of Poland, his power 
was too strong ever to fear invasion, or even insult. One 
had his California, another his New Mexico, and the third 
his Yera Cruz. 

Did they remain untouched and incapable of harm ? 
Alas ! no — far, very far from it. Retributive justice must 
fulfil its destiny too. A very few years pass off, and we hear 
of a new man, a Corsican lieutenant, the self-named " armed 
soldier of Democracy," Napoleon. He ravages Austria, 
covers her land with blood, drives the Northern Caesar from 
his capital, and sleeps in his palace. Austria may now re- 
member how her power trampled upon Poland. Did she not 
pay dear, very dear for her California ? 

But has Prussia no atonement to make ? You see this 
same Napoleon, the blind instrument of Providence, at work 
there. The thunders of his cannon at Jena proclaim the 
work of retribution for Poland's wrongs ; and the suc- 
cessors of the Great Frederick, the drill-sergeant of Europe, 
are seen flying across the sandy plains that surround their 
capital, right glad if they may escape captivity and death. 

But how fares it with the Autocrat of Russia ? Is he 
secure in his share of the spoils of Poland ? No. Suddenly 
we see, sir, six hundred thousand armed men marching to 
Moscow. Does his Yera Cruz protect him now ? Far from 



104 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

it. Blood, slaughter, desolation, spread abroad over the 
land ; and, finally, the conflagration of the old commercial 
metropolis of Russia closes the retribution ; she must pay 
for her share in the dismemberment of her impotent neigh- 
bor. 

Mr. President, a mind more prone to look for the judg- 
ments of Heaven in the doings of men than mine cannot 
fail, in all unjust acqusitions of territory, to see the Provi- 
dence of God. When Moscow burned, it seemed as if the 
earth was lighted up, that the nations might behold the 
scene. As that mighty sea of fire gathered and heaved and 
rolled upward, and yet higher, till its flames licked the stars, 
and fired the whole heavens, it did seem as though the God 
of the nations was writing, in characters of flames, on the 
front of His throne, that doom that shall fall upon the strong 
nation which tramples in scorn upon the weak. 

And what fortune awaits him, the appointed executor 
of this work, when it was all done ? He, too, conceived the 
notion that his destiny pointed onward to universal domin- 
ion. Prance was too small, — Europe he thought should bow 
down before him. But as soon as this idea takes possession 
of his soul, he too becomes powerless. His terminus must 
recede too. Bight there, while he witnessed the humilia- 
tion, and, doubtless, meditated the subjugation of Russia, 
He who holds the winds in His fist, gathered the snows of 
the Xorth, and blew them upon his six hundred thousand 
men. They fled — they froze — they perished. 

And now the mighty Napoleon, who had resolved on uni- 
versal dominion, he too, is summoned to answer for the vio- 
lation of that ancient law, " Thou shalt not covet anything 
which is thy neighbor's." How is the mighty fallen ! He, 
beneath whose proud footstep Europe trembled, he is now 
an exile at Elba, and now, finally, a prisoner on the rock of 
St. Helena — and there on a barren island, in an unfrequent- 
ed sea, in the crater of an extinguished volcano, there is the 
death-bed of the mighty conqueror. All his annexations 
have come to that ! His last hour is now at hand ; and he, 



DIMES AND DOLLARS. 105 

the man of destiny, he who had rocked the world as with 
the throes of an earthquake, is now powerless, still — even as 
the beggar, so he died. 

On the wings of a tempest that raged with unwonted fury, 
up to the throne of the only Power that controlled him while 
he lived, went to the fiery soul of that wonderful warrior, 
another witness to the existence of that eternal decree, that 
they who do not rule in righteousness shall perish from the 
earth. He has found " room " at last. And France, she 
too has found " room." Her " eagles " now no longer scream 
along the banks of the Danube, the Po, and the Borysthenes. 
They have returned home to their old aerie, between the 
Alps, the Rhine, and the Pyrenees. 

So shall it be with yours. You may carry them to the 
loftiest peaks of the Cordilleras ; they may wave, with inso- 
lent triumph, in the halls of the Montezumas ; the armed 
men of Mexico may quail before them; but the weakest 
hand in Mexico, uplifted in prayer to the God of Justice, 
may call down against you a Power in the presence of 
which the iron hearts of your warriors shall be turned into 
ashes ! 



DIMES AND DOLLAES. 

HENRY MILLS. 

" Dimes and dollars ! dollars and dimes ! " 
Thus an old miser rang the chimes, 
As he sat by the side of an open box, 
With ironed angles and massive locks : 
And he heaped the glittering coin on high, 
And cried in delirious ecstacy — 
11 Dimes and dollars ! dollars and dimes ! 
Ye are the ladders by which man climbs 
Over his fellows. Musical chimes ! 
Dimes and dollars ! dollars and dimes ! " 

A sound on the gong, and the miser rose, 
And his laden coffer did quickly close, 



106 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

And locked secure. " These are the times 

For a man to look after his dollars and dimes. 

A letter ! ha ! from my prodigal son. 

The old tale — poverty — pshaw, begone ! 

Why did he marry when I forbade ? 

As he has sown so he must reap ; 

But I my dollars secure will keep. 

A sickly wife and starving times 1 

He should have wed with dollars and dimes." 

Thickly the hour of midnight fell ; 
Doors and windows were bolted well. 
" Ha ! " cried the miser, " not so bad : — 
A thousand guineas to-day I've made. 
Money makes money ; these are the times 
To double and treble the dollars and dimes. 
Now to sleep, and to-morrow to plan ; — 
Rest is sweet to a wearied man." 
And he fell to sleep with the midnight chimes, 
Dreaming of glittering dollars and dimes. 

The sun rose high, and its beaming ray 

Into the miser"s room found way. 

It moved from the foot till it lit the head 

Of the miser's low uncurtained bed ; 

And it seemed to say to him, " Sluggard, awake ; 

Thou hast a thousand dollars to make. 

Up man, up ! : ' How still was the place, 

As the bright ray fell on the miser's face ! 

Ha ! the old miser at last is dead ! 

Dreaming of gold, his spirit fled, 

And he left behind but an earthly clod, 

Akin to the dross that he made his god. 

What now avails the chinking chimes 
Of dimes and dollars ! dollars and dimes ! 
Men of the times ! men of the times ! 
Content may not rest with dollars and dimes. 
Use them well, and their use sublimes 
The mineral dross of the dollars and dimes. 



THE DEAD DRUMMER-BOY. 107 

Use them ill, and a thousand crimes 

Spring from a coffer of dollars and dimes. 

Men of the times ! men of the times ! 

Let charity dwell with your dollars and dimes. 



THE DEAD DEUMMEE-BOY. 

HARPERS' WEEKLY. 

'Midst tangled roots that lined the wild ravine, 

Where the fierce fight raged hottest through the day, 
And where the dead in scattered heaps were seen, 
Amid the darkling forests' shade and sheen, 
Speechless in death he lay. 

The setting sun, which glanced athwart the place 

In slanting lines, like amber-tinted rain, 
Fell sidewise on the drummer's upturned face, 
Where Death had left his gory finger's trace 
In one bright crimson stain. 

The silken fringes of his once bright eye 
Lay like a shadow on his cheek so fair ; 
His lips were parted by a long-drawn sigh, 
That with his soul had mounted to the sky 
On some wild martial air. 

No more his hand the fierce tattoo shall beat, 

The shrill reveille, or the long-roll's call, 
Or sound the charge, when in the smoke and heat 
Of fiery onset foe with foe shall meet, 
And gallant men shall fall. 

Yet maybe in some happy home, that one — 
A mother — reading from the list of dead, 
Shall chance to view the name of her dear son, 
And move her lips to say, M God's will be done ! " 
And bow in grief her head. 



108 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

But more than this what tongue shall tell his story 7 

Perhaps his boyish longings were for fame 7 
He lived, he died ; and so, memento mori — 
Enough if on the page of War and Glory 
Some hand has writ his name. 



HOME. 

JAMES MONTGOMERY. 

There is a land, of every land the pride, 
Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside ; 
Where brighter suns dispense serener light, 
And milder moons emparadise the night ; 
A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth, 
Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth ; 
The wandering mariner, whose eye explores 
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores, 
Views not a realm so bountiful and fair, 
Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air. 
In every clime the magnet of his soul, 
Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole ; 
For in this land of Heaven's peculiar grace, 
The heritage of nature's noblest race, 
There is a spot of earth, supremely blest, 
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest. 
Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside 
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride, 
While in his softened looks benignly blend 
The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend : 
Here woman reigns ; the mother, daughter, wife, 
Strews with fresh flowers the narrow path of life j 
In the clear heaven of her delightful eye, 
An angel-guard of loves and graces lie ; 
Around her knees domestic duties meet, 
And fire-side pleasures gambol at her feet. 
Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found 7 
Art thou a man 7 — a patriot 7 look around ; 



HOME. 109 

Oh, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam, 
That land thy country, and that spot thy home. 

On Greenland's rocks, o'er rude Kamschatka's plains, 
In pale Siberia's desolate domains ; 
Where the wild hunter takes his lonely way, 
Tracks through tempestuous snows his savage prey, 
The reindeer's spoil, the ermine's treasures shares, 
And feasts his famine on the fat of bears : 
Or wrestling with the might of raging seas, 
Where round the pole the eternal billows freeze, 
Plucks from their jaws the stricken whale, in vain 
Plunging down headlong through the whirling main; 
His wastes of ice are lovelier in his eye 
Than all the flowery vales beneath the sky ; 
And dearer far than Caesar's palace-dome, 
His cavern shelter, and his cottage-home. 
O'er China's garden-fields, and peopled floods ; 
In California's pathless world of woods ; 
Round Andes' heights, where winter, from his throne, 
Looks down in scorn upon the summer gone ; 
By the gay borders of Bermuda's isles, 
Where spring with everlasting verdure smiles ; 
On pure Madeira's vine-robed hills of health i 
In Java's swamp of pestilence and wealth ; 
Where Babel stood, where wolves and jackals drink ; 
'Midst weeping willows, on Euphrates' brink ; 
On Carmel's crest ; by Jordan's reverend stream, 
Where Canaan's glories vanish like a dream ; 
Where Greece, a spectre, haunts her heroes' graves, 
And Rome's vast ruins darken Tiber's waves ; 
Where broken-hearted Switzerland bewails 
Her subject mountains, and dishonored vales ; 
Where Albion's rocks exult amidst the sea, 
Around the beauteous isle of liberty ; 
— Man, through all ages of revolving time, 
Unchanging man, in every varying clime, 
Deems his own land of every land the pride, 
Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside ; 



110 KECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

His home the spot of earth supremely blest, 
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest. 



EESPONSIBILITY OF AMERICAN CITIZENS. 

JOSEPH STORY. 

[The following extract is taken from an Oration delivered by Judge Story- 
Sept. 18, 1828, on the occasion of the commemoration of the first settlement of 
Salem, Massachusetts.] 

We stand the latest, and, if we fail, probable the last, 
experiment of self-government by the people. "We have be- 
gun it under circumstances of the most auspicious nature. 
We are in the vigor of youth. Our growth has never been 
checked by the oppressions of tyranny. Our constitutions 
have never been enfeebled by the vices or luxuries of the 
old world. Such as we are, we have been from the begin- 
ning — simple, hardy, intelligent, accustomed to self-govern- 
ment and self-respect. The Atlantic rolls between us and 
any formidable foe. 

Within our territory, stretching through many degrees of 
latitude and longitude, we have the choice of many pro- 
ducts, and many means of independence. The government 
is mild. The press is free. Religion is free. Knowledge 
reaches, or may reach, every home. What fairer prospect of 
success could be presented ? What means more adequate to 
accomplish the sublime end ? What more is necessary, than 
for the people to preserve what they themselves have cre- 
ated ? 

Can it be that America, under such circumstances can 
betray herself ? that she is to be added to the catalogue of 
republics the inscription upon whose ruins is, " They were, 
but they are not ? " Forbid it, my countrymen ! forbid it, 
Heaven ! 

I call upon you, fathers, by the shades of your ancestors, 



RESPONSIBILITY OF AMERICAN CITIZENS. Ill 

by the dear ashes which repose in this precious soil, by all 
you are and all you hope to be, — resist every project of dis- 
union, resist every encroachment upon your liberties, resist 
every attempt to fetter your consciences, or smother your 
public schools, or extinguish your system of public in- 
struction. 

I call upon you, mothers, by that which never fails in 
woman — the love of your offspring; teach them, as they 
climb your knees, or lean on your bosoms, the blessings of 
liberty. Swear them at the altar, as with their baptismal 
vows, to be true to their country, and never to forget or for- 
sake her. 

I call upon you, young men, to remember whose sons you 
are, whose inheritance you possess. Life can never be too 
short, which brings nothing but disgrace and oppression. 
Death never comes too soon, if necessary in defence of the 
liberties of your country. 

I call upon you, old men, for your counsels, and your 
prayers, and your benedictions. May not your gray hairs 
go down in sorrow to the grave with the recollection that 
you have lived in vain ! May not your last sun sink in the 
west upon a nation of slaves ! 

The time of our departure is at hand, to make way for 
our children upon the theatre of life. May God speed them 
and theirs ! May he who, at the distance of another cen- 
tury, shall stand here to celebrate this day, still look round 
upon a free, happy, and virtuous people ! May he have 
reason to exult as we do ! May he, with all the enthusiasm 
of truth, as well as of poetry, exclaim that here is still his 
country. 

" Zealous, yet modest ; innocent, though free ; 
Patient of toil ; serene amidst alarms ; 
Inflexible in faith ; invincible in arms." 



112 BECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

THE SMACK IN SCHOOL. 

TV. P. PALMEB. 

A district school, not far away 

'Mid Berkshire hills, one winter's day, 

Was humming with its wonted noise 

Of threescore mingled girls and boys — 

Some few upon their tasks intent, 

But more on furtive mischief bent ; 

The while the master's downward look 

Was fastened on a copy-book — 

When suddenly behind his back, 

Rose, loud and clear, a rousing smack, 

As 'twere a battery of bliss 

Let off in one tremendous kiss ! 

" What's that 1 " the startled master cries ; 

11 That thir," a little imp replies, 

<• Wath William Willith, if you pleathe— 

I thaw him kith Thuthannah Peathe ! •■ 

With frown to make a statue thrill, 

The master thundered " Hither, Will ! " 

Like wretch o'ertaken in his track, 

With stolen chattels on his back, 

Will hung his head in fear and shame, 

And to the awful presence came — 

A great, green, bashful simpleton, 

The butt of all good-natured fun — 

With smile suppressed, and birch upraised, 

The threat'ner faltered — " I'm amazed 

That you, my biggest pupil, should 

Be guilty of an act so rude ! 

Before the whole set school to boot — 

What evil genius put you to't 1 " 

"' Twas she, herself, sir," sobbed the lad, 

" I didn't mean to be so bad — 

But when Susannah shook her curls, 

And whispered I was 'fear'd of girls, 



LEFT ON THE BATTLE-FIELD. 113 

And dassn't kiss a baby's doll, 

I couldn't stand it, sir, at all ! 

But up and kissed her on the spot. 

I know — boo hoo — I ought to not, 

But, somehow, from her looks — boo hoo — 

I thought she kind o' wished me to ! " 



LEFT ON THE BATTLE-EIELD. 

SAHAH T. BOLTON. 

What, was it a dream 1 am I all alone 

In the dreary night and the drizzling rain 1 

Hist ! — ah, it was only the river's moan ; 

They have left me behind, with the mangled slain. 

Yes, now I remember it all too well ! 

We met, from the battling ranks apart • 
Together our weapons flashed and fell, 

And mine was sheathed in his quivering heart. 

In the cypress gloom, where the deed was done, 

It was all too dark to see his face ; 
But I heard his death-groans, one by one, 

And he holds me still in a cold embrace. 

He spoke but once, and I could not hear 

The words he said, for the cannon's roar ; 
But my heart grew cold with a deadly fear, — 

God ! \ had heard that voice before ! 

Had heard it before at our mother's knee, 

When we lisped the words of our evening prayer ! 

My brother ! would I had died for thee, — 
This burden is more than my soul can bear ! 

I pressed my lips to his death-cold cheek, 

And begged him to show me, by word or sign, 

That he knew and forgave me : he could not speak, 
But he nestled his poor cold face to mine. 



114 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

* The blood flowed fast from my wounded side, 
And then for awhile I forgot my pain, 
And over the lakelet we seemed to glide 
In our little boat, two boys again. 

And then, in my dream, me stood alone 
On a forest path where the shadows fell ; 

And I heard again the tremulous tone, 
And the tender words of his last farewell. 

But that parting was years, long years ago, 
He wandered away to a foreign land ; 

And our dear old mother will never know 
That he died to-night by his brother's hand. 



The soldiers who buried the dead away, 

Disturbed not the clasp of that last embrace, 

But laid them to sleep till the Judgment-day, 
Heart folded to heart, and face to face. 



THE AMEEICAN FLAG. 

JOSEPH HODMAN DRAKE. 

When Freedom, from her mountain height 

Unfurl'd her standard to the air, 
She tore the azure robe of night, 

And set the stars of glory there ! 
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 
The milky baldric of the skies, 
And stripped its pure celestial white 
With streakings of the morning light. 
Then, from his mansion in the sun, 
She call'd her eagle bearer down, 
And gave into his mighty hand 
The symbol of her chosen land ! 



THE AMERICAN FLAG. 115 

Majestic monarch of the cloud ! 

Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, 
To hear the tempest-trumpings loud, 
And see the lightning lances driven, 

When strive the warriors of the storm, 
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven, — 
Child of the Sun ! to thee 'tis given 

To guard the banner of the free, 
To hover in the sulphur smoke, 
To ward away the battle-stroke, 

And bid its blendings shine afar, 

Like rainbows on the cloud of war, 
The harbingers of victory ! 

Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, 
The sign of hope and triumph high ! 
When speaks the signal-trumpet tone, 
And the long line comes gleaming on, 
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, 
Has dinmrd the glistening bayonet, 
Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn 
To where thy sky-born glories burn, 
And as his springing steps advance, 
Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 
And when the cannon-mouthings loud 
Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud, 
And gory sabres rise and fall 
Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall, 
Then shall thy meteor glances glow, 

And cowering foes shall shrink beneath 
Each gallant arm that strikes below 

That lovely messenger of death. 

Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave 
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave ; 
When death, careering on the gale, 
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, 
And frighted waves rush wildly back 
Before the broadside's reeling rack, 



116 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Each dying wanderer of the sea 
Shall look at once to heaven and thee, 
And smile to see thy splendors fly 
In triumph o'er his closing eye. 

Flag of the free heart's hope and home, 

By angel hands to valor given, 
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 

And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
Forever float that standard sheet, 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us, 
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, 

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us ! 



OH! WHY SHOULD THE SPIEIT OF MOETAL 
BE PKOUD ? 

A.NONYMOUS. 

[The following poem was a particular favorite with Mr. Lincoln, and which he 
was accustomed occasionally to repeat. Mr. F. B. Carpenter, the artist, writes 
that while engaged in painting his picture at the "White House, he was alone 
one evening with the President in his room, when he said : " There is a poem 
which has been a great favorite with me for years, which was first shown to 
me when a young man by a friend, and which I afterwards saw and cut from 
a newspaper and learned by heart. I would," he continued, " give a great deal 
to know who wrote it, but have never been able to ascertain." He then re- 
peated the poem, and on a subsequent occasion Mr. Carpenter wrote it down 
from Mr. Lincoln's own lips. The poem was published more than thirty years 
ago, was then stated to be of Jewish origin and composition, and we think 
was credited to " Songs of Israel."] 

Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud 1 
Like a swift, fleeting meteor, a fast flying cloud, 
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, 
Man passes from life to his rest in the grave. 

The leaves of the oak and the willows shall fade, 
Be scattered around and together be laid ; 
And the young and the old, and the low and the high, 
Shall moulder to dust and together shall lie. 



OH ! WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT, ETC. 117 

The infant a mother attended and loved , 
The mother that infant's affection who proved ; 
The husband that mother and infant who blessed, 
Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest. 

The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye, 
Shone beauty and pleasure — her triumphs are by ; 
And the memory of those who loved her and praised, 
Are alike from the minds of the living erased. 

The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne ; 
The brow cf the priest that the mitre hath worn ; 
The eye of the sage and the heart of the brave, 
Are hidden and lost in the depth of the grave. 

The peasant, whose lot was to sow and to reap ; 
The herdsman, who climbed with his goats up the steep ; 
The beggar, who wandered in search of his bread, 
Have faded away like the grass that we tread. 

The saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven, 
The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven, 
The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just, 
Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust. 

So the multitude goes, like the flowers or the weed 
That withers away to let others succeed ; 
So the multitude comes, even those we behold, 
To repeat every tale that has often been told. 

For we are the same our fathers have been ; 
We see the same sights our fathers have seen — 
We drink the same stream and view the same sun, 
And run the same course our fathers have run. 

The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think ; 
From the death we are shrinking our fathers would shrink, 
To the life we are clinging they also would cling ; 
But it speeds for us all, like a bird on the wing. 



118 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

They loved, but the story we cannot unfold ; 
They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold ; 
They grieved, but no wail from their slumbers will come ; 
They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is dumb. 

They died, aye ! they died : and we things that are now, 

"Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow, 

Who make in their dwelling a transient abode, 

Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage road. 

Yea ! hope and despondency, pleasure and pain, 
We mingle together in sunshine and rain ; 
And the smiles and the tears, the song and the dirge, 
Still follow each other, like surge upon surge. 

'Tis the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath ; 
From the blossom of health to the paleness of death, 
From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud — 
Oh why should the spirit of mortal be proud 1 



PABKHASIUS. 



Parrhasius stood, gazing forgetfully 

Upon the canvas. There Prometheus lay, 

Chained to the cold rocks of Mount Caucasus, 

The vulture at his vitals, and the links 

Of the lame Lemnian festering in his flesh ; 

And, as the painter's mind felt through the dim 

Rapt mystery, and plucked the shadows forth 

With its far-reaching fancy, and with form 

And color clad them, his fine, earnest eye 

Flashed with a passionate fire, and the quick curl 

Of his thin nostril, and his quivering lip, 

Were like the winged god's breathing from his flights. 



PARRHASIUS. 119 

" Bring me the captive now ! 



My hand feels skillful, and the shadows lift 
From my waked spirit airily and swift : 

And I could paint the bow 
Upon the bended heavens — around me play 
Colors of such divinity to-day. 



Ha ! bind him on his back ! 
Look ! as Prometheus in my picture here — 
Quick — or he faints ! — stand with the cordial near ! 

Now — bend him to the rack ! 
Press down the poisoned links into his flesh ! 
And tear agape that healing wound afresh ! 

So — let him writhe S How long 
Will he live thus 7 Quick, my good pencil now ! 
What a fine agony works upon his brow ! 

Ha ! gray-haired, and so strong ! 
How fearfully he stifles that short moan ! 
Gods ! could I but paint a dying groan ! 

Pity thee ! so I do ! 
I pity the dumb victim at the altar — 
But does the robed priest for his pity falter 1 

I'd rack thee, though I knew 
A thousand lives were perishing in thine — 
What were ten thousand to a fame like mine ? 

Ah ! there's a deathless name ! — 
. A spirit that the smothering vaults shall spurn, 
And, like a steadfast planet, mount and burn — 

And though its crown of flame 
Consumed my brain to ashes as it shone — 
By all the fiery stars ! I'd bind it on ! 

"Ay ! though it bid me rifle 
My heart's last fount for its insatiate thirst — * 



120 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Though every life-strung nerve be maddened first — 

Though it should bid me stifle 
The yearnings in my heart for my sweet child, 
And taunt its mother till my brain went wild — 

" All— I would do it ail- 
Sooner than die, like a dull worm, to rot 
Thrust foully in the earth to be forgot. 

Oh heavens — but I appall 
Your heart, old man ! — forgive — ha ! on your lives 
Let him not faint ! rack him till he revives ! 

" Vain — vain — give o'er. His eye 
Glazes apace. He does not feel you now — 
Stand back ! I'll paint the death-dew on his brow! 

Gods ! if he do not die, 
But for one moment — one — till I eclipse 
Conception with the scorn of those calm lips ! 

" Shivering ! Hark S he mutters 
Brokenly now — that was a difficult breath — 
Another 7 Wilt thou never come, oh, Death ! 

Look ! how his temple flutters ! 
Is his heart still 1 Aha ! lift up his head ! 
He shudders — gasps — Jove help him — so — he's dead/ 1 

How like a mountain devil in the heart 
Rules the inreined ambition ! Let it once 
But play the monarch, and its haughty brow 
Glows with a beauty that bewilders thought 
And unthrones peace forever. Putting on 
The very pomp of Lucifer, it turns 
The heart to ashes, and with not a spring 
Left in the desert for the spirit's lip, 
We look upon our splendor and forget 
The thirst of which we perish ! 



THE VAGABONDS. 121 

THE VAGABONDS. 

J. T. TROWBRIDGE. 

We are two travellers, Roger and I. 

Roger's my dog : — come here, you scamp ! 
Jump for the gentlemen, — mind your eye ! 

Over the table, — look out for the lamp ! — 
The rogue is growing a little old ; 

.Five years we've tramped through wind and weather, 
And slept out-doors when nights were cold, 

And ate and drank — and starved together. 

We've learned what comfort is, I tell you ! 

A bed on the floor, a bit of rosin, 
A fire to thaw our thumbs (poor fellow ! 

The paw he holds up there's been frozen), 
Plenty of catgut for my fiddle, 

(This out-door business is bad for the strings), 
Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle, 

And Roger and I set up for kings ! 

No, thank ye, sir, — I never drink ; 

Roger and I are exceedingly moral — 
Aren't we, Roger 1 — see him wink ! — • 

Well, something hot, then, — we won't quarrel. 
He's thirsty, too, — see him nod his head ? 

What a pity, sir, that dogs cant ta'.k ! 
He understands every word that's said, — 

And he knows good milk from water-and-chalk. 

The truth is, sir, now I reflect, 

I've been so sadly given to grog, 
I wonder I've not lost the respect 

(Here's to you, sir i) even of my dog. 
But he sticks by, through thick and thin ; 

And this old coat, with its empty pockets, 
And rags that smell of tobacco and gin, 

He'll follow while he has eyes in his sockets. 



122 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

There isn't another creature living 

Would do it, and prove, through every disaster, 
So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving, 

To such a miserable thankless master ! 
No, sir ! — see him wag his tail and grin ! 

By George ! it makes my old eyes water ! 
That is, there's something in this gin 

That chokes a fellow. But no matter ! 

We'll have some music, if your're willing, 

And Roger (hem ! what a plague a cough is, sir !) 
Shall march a little. Start, you villain ! 

Stand straight!' 'Bout face ! Salute your officer ! 
Put up that paw ! Dress ! Take your rifle ! 

(Some dogs have arms, you see !) Now hold your 
Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle, 

To aid a poor old patriot soldier ! 

March ! Halt ! Now show how the rebel shakes 

When he stands up to hear his sentence. 
Now tell us how many drams it takes 

To honor a jolly new acquaintance. 
Five yelps. — that's five ; he's mighty knowing ! 

The night's before us, fill the glasses ! — 
Quick, sir ! I'm ill, — my brain is going ! 

Some brandy, — thank you, — there ! — it passes ! 

Why not reform 1 That's easily said ; 

But I've gone through such wretched treatment, 
Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread, 

And scarce remembering what meat meant, 
That my poor stomach's past reform ; 

And there are times when, mad with thinking, 
I'd sell out heaven for something warm 

To prop a horrible inward sinking. 

Is there a way to forget to think 1 

At your age. sir, home, fortune, friends, 



THE VAGABONDS. 123 

A dear girl's love, — but I took to drink ; — 
The same old story ; you know how it ends. 

If you could have seen these classic features. — 
You needn't laugh, sir ; they were not then 

Such a burning libel on God's creatures : 
I was one of your handsome men ! 

If you had seen her, so fair and young, 

"Whose head was happy on this breast ! 
If you could have heard the songs I sung 

"When the wine went round, you wouldn't have guessed 
That ever I, sir, should be straying 

From door to door, with fiddle and dog, 
Ragged and penniless, and playing 

To you to-night for a glass of grog ! 

She's married since, — a parson's wife : 

'Twas better for her that we should part, — 
Better the soberest, prosiest life 

Than a blasted home and a broken heart. 
I have seen her 1 Once : I was weak and spent 

On the dusty road, a carriage stopped : 
But little she dreamed, as on she went, 

Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped ! 

You've set me talking, sir ; I'm sorry ; 

It makes me wild to think of the change ! 
"What do you care for a beggar's story 1 

Is it amusing 1 you find it strange ? 
I had a mother so proud of me ! 

'Twas well she died before Do you know 

If the happy spirits in heaven can see 

The ruin and wretchedness here below 1 

Another glass, and strong, to deaden 

This pain ; then Roger and I will start. 
I wonder, has he such a lumpish, leaden, 

Aching thing, in place of a heart 1 
He is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could, 

No doubt, remembering things that were, — 



124 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

A virtuous kennel, with plenty of food, 
And himself a sober, respeetable cur. 

I'm better now ; that glass was warming. 

You rascal ! limber your lazy feet ! 
We must be fiddling and performing 

For supper and bed, or starve in the street. 
Not a very gay life to lead, you think 1 

But soon we shall go where lodgings are free, 
And the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink ;- 

The sooner, the better for Roger and me ! 



A BEIDAL WINE-CUP. 

ANONYMOUS. 

" Pledge with wine — pledge with wine," cried the young 
and thoughtless Harry Wood. " Pledge with wine," ran 
through the brilliant crowd. 

The beautiful bride grew pale — the decisive hour had 
come, she pressed her white hands together, and the leaves 
of her bridal wreath trembled on her pure brow ; her breath 
came quicker, her heart beat wilder. 

" Yes, Marion, lay aside your scruples for this once," said 
the Judge, in a low tone, going towards his daughter ; " the 
company expect it, do not so seriously infringe upon the 
rules of etiquette ; in your own house act as you please ; but 
in mine, for this once please me." 

Every eye was turned towards the bridal pair. Marion's 
principles were well known. Henry had been a convivialist, 
but of late his friends noticed the change in his manners, 
the difference in his habits — and to-night they watched him 
to see, as they sneeringly said, if he was tied down to a 
woman's opinion so soon. 

Pouring a brimming beaker, they held it with tempting 
smiles toward Marion. She was very pale, though more 
composed, and her hand shook not, as smiling back, she 



A BRIDAL WINE-CUP. 125 

gratefully accepted the crystal tempter, and raised it to 
her lips. But scarcely had she done so, when every hand 
was arrested by her piercing exclamation of " Oh ! how ter- 
rible ! " " What is it ? " cried one and all, thronging together, 
for she had slowly carried the glass at arm's length, and was 
fixedly regarding it as though it were some hideous object. 

" Wait," she answered, while an inspired light shone from 
her dark eyes, "wait and I will tell you. I see," she added, 
slowly, pointing one jewelled finger at the sparkling ruby 
liquid, " a sight that beggars all description ; and yet listen ; 
I will paint it for you if I can : It is a lonely spot ; tall moun- 
tains, crowned with verdure, rise in awful sublimity around ; 
a river runs through, and bright flowers grow to the water's 
edge. There is a thick warm mist that the sun seeks vainly 
to pierce ; trees, lofty and beautiful, wave to the airy motion 
of the birds ; but there, a group of Indians gather ; they flit 
to and fro with something like sorrow npon their dark brow ; 
and in their midst lies a manly form, but his cheek, how 
deathly ; his eye wild with the fitful fire of fever. One 
friend stands beside him, nay, I should say kneels, for he is 
pillowing that poor head upon his breast. 

11 Genius in ruins. Oh ! the high, holy looking brow ! 
Why should death mark it, and he so young ? Look how he 
throws the damp curls ! see him clasp his hands ! hear his 
thrilling shrieks for life ! mark how he clutches at the form 
of his companion, imploring to be saved. Oh ! hear him call 
piteously his father's name ; see him twine his fingers to- 
gether as he shrieks for his sister — his only sister — the twin 
of his soul — weeping for him in his distant native land. 

" See ! " she exclaimed, while the bridal party shrank back, 
the untasted wine trembling in their faltering grasp, and the 
Judge fell, overpowered, upon his seat ; " see ! his arms are 
lifted to heaven ; he prays, how wildly, for mercy ! hot fever 
rushes through his veins. The friend beside him is weeping ; 
awe-stricken, the dark men move silently, and leave the 
living and dying together." 

There was a hush in that princely parlor, broken only by 



126 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

what seemed a smothered sob, from some manly bosom. The 
bride stood yet upright, with quivering lip, and tears steal- 
ing to the outward edge of her lashes. Her beautiful arm 
had lost its tension, and the glass, with its little troubled red 
waves, came slowly towards the range of her vision. She 
spoke again ; every lip was mute. Her voice was low, faint, 
yet awfully distinct : she still fixed her sorrowful glance 
upon the wine-cup. 

" It is evening now ; the great white moon is coming up, 
and her beams lay gently on his forehead. He moves not ; 
his eyes are set in their sockets ; dim are their piercing glances ; 
in vain his friend whispers the name of father and sister, 
death is there. Death ! and no soft hand, no gentle voice 
to bless and sooth him. His head sinks back ! one convul- 
sive shudder ! he is dead ! " 

A groan ran through the assembly, so vivid was her des- 
cription, so unearthly her look, so inspired her manner, that 
what she described seemed actually to have taken place 
then and there. They noticed also, that the bridegroom hid 
his face in his hands and was weeping. 

" Dead ! " she repeated again, her lips quivering faster and 
faster, and her voice more and more broken ; " and there they 
scoop him a grave ; and, there without a shroud, they lay 
him down in the damp reeking earth. The only son of a 
proud father, the only idolized brother of a fond sister. 
And he sleeps to-day in that distant country, with no stone 
to mark the spot. There he lies — my father's son — my own 
twin brother ! a victim to this deadly poison. Father," she 
exclaimed, turning suddenly, while the tears rained down 
her beautiful cheeks, " father, shall I drink it now? " 

The form of the old Judge was convulsed with agony. He 
raised his head, but in a smothered voice he faltered — " No, 
no, my child, in God's name, no." 

She lifted the glittering goblet, and letting it suddenly 
fall to the floor it was dashed into a thousand pieces. Many 
a tearful eye watched her movements, and instantaneously 
every wine-glass was transferred to the marble table on 



BLANCHE OF DEVAN's LAST WORDS. 127 

which it had been prepared. Then, as she looked at the 
fragments of crystal, she tnrned to the company, saying : — 
«' Let no friend, hereafter, who loves me tempt me to peril 
my sonl for wine. Not firmer the everlasting hills than my 
resolve, God helping me, never to tonch or taste that terri- 
ble poison. And he to whom I have given my hand ; who 
watched over my brothers dying form in that last solemn 
hour, and bnried the dear wanderer there by the river, in 
that land of gold, will, I trust, sustain me in that resolve. 
"Will you not, my husband ? " 

His glistening eyes, his sad sweet smile was her answer. 

The Judge left the room, and when an hour later he re- 
turned, and with a more subdued manner took part in the 
entertainment of the bridal guests, no one could fail to read 
that he, too, had determined to dash the enemy at once and 
forever from his princely rooms. 

Those who were present at that wedding, can never forget 
the impression so solemnly made. Many from that hour 
forswore the social glass. 



BLANCHE OF DEVAN'S LAST WOEDS. 

SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

" Stranger, it is in vain ! " she cried, 
" This hour of death has given me more 
Of Reason's power, than years before ; 
For, as these ebbing veins decay, 
My frenzied visions fade away, 
A helpless, injured wretch I die, 
. And something tells me in thine eye, 
That thou wert my avenger born. 
Seest thou this tress 1 ! still I've worn 
This little tress of yellow hair, 
Through danger, frenzy and despair ! 
It once was bright and clear as thine, 
But blood and tears have dimmed its shine. 



128 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

I will not tell thee when 'twas shed, 
Nor from what guiltless victim's head 
My brain would turn ! but it shall wave 
Like plumage on thy hemlet brave. 
Till sun and wind shall bleach the stain, 
And thou wilt bring it me again. — 
I waver still ! God ! more bright 
Let Reason beam her parting light ! 
! by thy knighthood's honored sign, 
And by thy life preserved by mine, 
When thou shalt see a darksome man, 
Who boast's him chief of Alpine's clan, 
With tartans broad, and shadowy plume, 
And hand of blood and brow of gloom, 
Be thy heart bold, thy weapon strong, 
And wreak poor Blanche of Devan's wrong ! 
They watch for thee by pass and fell — 
Avoid the path — God ! farewell." 



WIDOW BEDOTT TO ELDEE SNIFFLES. 

0, reverend sir, I do declare 

It drives me most to frenzy. 
To think of you a lying there 

Down sick with influenza. 

A body'd thought, it was enough, 
To mourn your wive's departer, 

Without sich trouble as this ere 
To come a follerin' arter. 

But sickness and affliction 

Are the trials sent by a wise creation, 

And always ought to be underwent 
By fortitude and resignation. 

0, I could to your bed-side fly 
And wipe your weeping eyes ; 



A PSALM OF THE UNION. 129 

And do my best to cure you up 
If 'twouldn't create surprise. 

It's a world of trouble we tarry in, 

But, Elder, don't despair ; 
That you may soon be movin' again 

Is constantly rny prayer. 

Both sick and well, you may depend 

You'll never be forgot 
By your faithful and affectionate friend, 
Pricilla Pool Bedott. 



A PSALM OF THE UNION. 

habpers' monthly, December , 1861. 

God of the. Free ! upon thy breath 

Our flag is for the Right unrolled ; 
Still broad and brave as when its stars 

First crowned the hallowed time of old : 
For Honor still its folds shall fly, 

For Duty still their glories burn, 
Where Truth, Religion, Freedom guard 
The patriot's sword and martyr's urn. 
Then shout beside thine oak, North ! 

South ! wave answer with thy palm ; 
And in our Union's heritage 

Together lift the Nation's psalm ! 

How glorious is our mission here ! 

Heirs of a virgin world are we ; 
The chartered lords whose lightnings tame 

The rocky mount and roaring sea : 
We march, and Nature's giants own 

The fetters of our mighty cars j 
We look, and lo ! a continent 

Is crouched beneath the Stripes and Stars ! 
Then shout beside thine oak, North ! 
South ! wave answer with thy palm ; 



130 KECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

And in our Union's heritage 

Together lift the Nation's psalm ; 

No tyrant's impious step is ours ; 

No lust of power on nations rolled : 
Our Flag — for friends a starry sky, 

For foes a tempest every fold ! 
Oh I thus we'll keep our nation's life, 

Nor fear the bolt by despots hurled : 
The blood of all the world is here, 

And they who strike us, strike the world. 
Then shout beside thine oak, North ! 

South ! wave answer with thy palm ; 
And in our Union's heritage 

Together lift the Nation's psalm I 

God of the Free I our Nation bless 

In its strong manhood as its birth ; 
And make its life a Star of Hope 

For all the struggling of the Earth : 
Thou gav'st the glorious Past to us ; 

Oh ! let our Present burn as bright, 
And o'er the mighty Future cast 

Truth's, Honor's, Freedom's holy light ! 
Then shout beside thine oak, North I 

South ! wave answer with thy palm ; 
And in our Union's heritage 

Together lift the Nation's psalm ! 



CHAEGE OF A DUTCH MAGISTEATE. ' 

De man he killed vasn't killed at all, as vas broved ; he is 
in ter chail, at Morristown, for sheep stealing. Put dat ish 
no matter ; te law says vare ter is a doubt you give him to 
der brisoner ; put here ish no doubt, so, you see, ter brisoner 
ish guilty. I dinks, derefore, Mr. Foreman, he petter pe 
hung next Fourth of July. 



STARS IN MY COUNTRY'S SKY. 131 



STAES IN MY COUNTRY'S SKY. 

L. H. I 

Are ye all there 1 Are ye all there, 

Stars of my country's sky 7 
Are ye all there 1 Are ye all there ? 

In your shining homes on high 1 
" Count us ! count us," was their answer, 

As they dazzled on my view, 
In glorious perihelion, 

Amid their field of blue. 

I cannot count you rightly ; 

There's a cloud with sable rim ; 
I cannot make your numbers out, 

For my eyes with tears are dim. 
Oh ! bright and blessed angel, 

On white wing floating by, 
Help me to count, and not to miss 

One star in my country's sky ! 

Then the angel touched mine eyelids, 

And touched the frowning cloud j 
And its sable rim departed, 

And it fled with murky shroud. 
There was no missing Pleiad, 

'Mid all that sister race ; 
The Southern Cross gleamed radiant forth, 

And the Pole- Star kept its place. 

Then I knew it was the angel 

Who woke the hymning strain 
That our Redeemer's birth 

Pealed out o'er Bethlehem's plain ; 
And still its heavenly key-tone 

My listening country held, 
For all her constellated stars 

The diapason swelled. 



132 BECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 



BINGEN ON THE EHINE. 

MRS. CAROLINE NORTON. 

A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, 

There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's 

tears ; 
But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away, 
And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might say : 
The dying soldier faltered, and he took that comrade's hand, 
And he said, " I never more shall see my own, my native land : 
Take a message, and a token, to some distant friends of mine, 
For I was born at Bingen, — at Bingen on the Rhine. 

" Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd 

around, 
Tc hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vineyard ground, 
That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done, 
Full many a corse lay ghastly pale, beneath the setting sun ; 
And, 'mid the dead and dying, were some grown old in wars, — 
The death-wound on their gallant breasts, the last of many scars ; 
And some were young, and suddenly beheld life's morn decline, — 
And one had come from Bingen, — fair Bingen on the Rhine. 

" Tell my mother, that her other son shall comfort her old age ; 

For I was still a truant bird, that thought his home a cage. 

For my father was a soldier, and even as a child 

My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild ; 

And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard, 

I let them take whate'er they would, — but kept my father's sword ; 

And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to shine, 

On the cottage wall at Bingen, — calm Bingen on the Rhine. 

il Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head, 
"When the troops come marching home again, with glad and gallant 
tread. 



BINGEN ON THE RHINE. 133 

But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye, 

For her brother was a soldier, too, and not afraid to die ; 

And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name, 

To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame, 

And to hang the old sword in its place (my father's sword and 

mine), 
For the honor of old Bingen, — dear Bingen on the Rhine. 

11 There's another — not a sister ; in the happy days gone by ; 
You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye ; 
Too innocent for coquetry, — too fond for idle scorning, — 
0, friend ! I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest 

mourning ! 
Tell her the last night of my life (for ere the moon be risen, 
My body will be out of pain, my soul be out of prison), — 
I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine 
On the vine-clad hills of Bingen, — fair Bingen on the Rhine. 

" I saw the blue Rhine sweep along, — I heard, or seemed to hear, 

The German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clear ; 

And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill, 

The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still ; 

And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we passed with friendly talk, 

Down many a path beloved of yore, and well-remembered walk ! 

And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine, — 

But we'll meet no more at Bingen, — loved Bingen on the Rhine." 

His trembling voice grew faint and hoarse, — his grasp was childish 

weak, — 
His eyes put on a dying look, — he sighed and ceased to speak j 
His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled, — 
The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land is dead ! 
And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down 
On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corses strewn ; 
Yes, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine, 
As it shone on distant Bingen, — fair Bingen on the Rhine. 



134 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 



THE EELIGIOUS CHARACTER OE PRESIDENT 
LINCOLN. 

[The following is taken from the funeral address delivered on the occasion of 
the obsequies of President Lincoln, April 19th, 1866, by the Rev. P. D. Gur- 
ley, D. D., who was pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Washington, which 
Mr. Lincoln attended.] 

Probably no man since the days of Washington was ever 
so deeply enshrined in the hearts of the American people as 
Abraham Lincoln. Nor was it a mistaken confidence and 
love. He deserved it all. He deserved it by his character, 
by the whole tenor, tone, and spirit of his life. He was sim- 
ple, sincere, plain, honest, truthful, just, benevolent and 
kind. His perceptions were quick and clear, his judgments 
calm and accurate, purposes good and pure beyond all ques- 
tion. Always and everywhere he aimed both to be right 
and to do right. His integrity was all-prevading, all- con- 
trolling, and incorruptible. As the chief magistrate of a 
great and inperilled people, he rose to the dignity and 
momentousness of the occasion. He saw his duty, and he 
determined to do his whole duty, seeking the guidance and 
leaning upon the arm of Him of whom it is written, " He 
giveth power to the faint, and to them that have no might 
he increaseth strength." 

I speak what I know when I affirm that His guidance was 
the prop on which he humbly and habitually leaned. It was 
the best hope he had for himself and his country. When he 
was leaving his home in Illinois, and coming to this city to 
take his seat in the executive chair of a disturbed and 
troubled nation, he said to the old and tried friends who 
gathered tearfully around him and bade him farewell, " I 
leave you with this request,— pray for me." They did pray 
for him, and millions of others prayed for him. Nor did they 
pray in vain. Their prayers were heard. The answer shines 
forth with a heavenly radiance in the whole course and tenor 
of his administration, from its commencement to its close. 



RELIGIOUS CHARACTER OF LINCOLN. 135 

God raised him up for a great and glorious mission. He 
furnished him for his work and aided him in its accomplish- 
ment. He gave him strength of mind, honesty of heart, and 
purity and pertinacity of purpose. In addition to these He 
gave him also a calm and abiding confidence in an over- 
ruling Providence, and in the ultimate triumph of truth and 
righteousness through the power and blessing of God. This 
confidence strengthened him in his hours of anxiety and 
toil, and inspired him with a calm and cheerful hope when 
others were despondent. 

Never shall I forget the emphasis and the deep emotion 
with which, in this very room he said to a company of 
clergymen, who had called to pay him their respects, in the 
darkest hour of our civil conflict, " Gentlemen, my hope of 
success in this great and terrible struggle rests on that immu- 
table foundation, the justice and goodness of God. Even 
now, when the events seem most threatening, and the pros- 
pects dark, I still hope that in some way which man cannot 
see, all will be well in the end, and that as our cause is just, 
God is on our side." 

Such was his sublime and holy faith. It was an anchor 
to his soul both sure and steadfast. It made him firm and 
strong. It emboldened him in the rugged and perilous 
pathway of duty. It made him valiant for the right, for the 
cause of God and humanity. It held him in steady, patient, 
and unswerving adherence to a policy which he thought, 
and which we all now think, both God and humanity re- 
quired him to adopt. 

We admired his child-like simplicity, his freedom from 
guile and deceit, his staunch and sterling integrity, his kind 
and forgiving temper, and his persistent, self-sacrificing de- 
votion to all the duties of his eminent position. "We admired 
his readiness to hear and consider the cause of the poor* 
the humble, the suffering, and the oppressed, and his readi- 
ness to spend and be spent for the attainment of that great 
triumph, the blessed fruits of which shall be as wide spread- 
ing as the earth, and as enduring as the sun. 



136 KECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

All these things commanded the admiration of the world, 
and stamped upon his life and character the unmistakable 
impress of true greatness. More sublime than all these, 
more holy and beautiful, was his abiding confidence in God, 
and in the final triumph of truth and righteousness through 
him and for his sake. The friends of liberty and the Union 
will repair to his consecrated grave, through ages yet to 
come, to pronounce the memory of its occupant blessed, and 
to gather from his ashes and the rehearsal of his virtues fresh 
incentives to patriotism, and there renew their vows of fidelity 
to their country and their God. 



THE EAVEN. 

EDGAR A. POE. 

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, 
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, — 
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, 
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. 
11 'Tis some visitor," I mutter'd, t{ tapping at my chamber door. 
Only this, and nothing more." 

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, 
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. 
Eagerly I wished the morrow ; vainly I had sought to borrow 
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore — 
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore — 
Nameless here forever more. 

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain, 
Thrill'd me — fill'd me with fantastic terrors never felt before ; 
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, 
" 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door, — 
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door j 
That it is, and nothing more." 



THE RAVEN. 137 

Presently my soul grew stronger : hesitating then no longer, 
" Sir," said I, " or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore j 
But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, 
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, 
That I scarce was sure I heard you " — here I open'dwide the door ; 
Darkness there, and nothing more. 

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, 

fearing, 
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before j 
But the si'.ence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token, 
And the only word there spoken was the whisper'd word " Lenore ! " 
This I whisper'd, and an echo murrnurd back the word " Lenore ! " 
Merely this, and nothing more. 

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, 
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before. 
11 Surely," said I, " surely that is something at my window-lattice ; 
Let me see then what there at is, and this mystery explore, — 
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore ; — 
'Tis the wind, and nothing more." 

Open then I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, 

In there stepp'd a stately raven of the saintly days of yore. 

Not the least obeisance made he ; not an instant stopp'd or stay'd 

he; 
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door, — 
Perch'd upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door, — 
Perchd, and sat, and nothing more. 

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, 

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, 

11 Though thy crest be shorne and shaven, thou," I said, " art sure 

no craven ; 
Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore, 
Tell me what thy lord y name is on the night's Plutonian shore 1 " 
Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! " 

Much I marvel'd this ungainly fowl to here discourse so plainly, 
Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore ; 



* 



138 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being 
Ever yet was bless'd with seeing bird above his chamber door, 
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, 
"With such name as " Nevermore I " 

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only 
That one wo d, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. 
Nothing further then he utter'd — not a feather then he flutter'd — 
Till I scarcely more than mutter'd, " Other friends have flown 

before — 
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." 
Then the bird said, " Nevermore ! n 

Startled at the stillness, broken by reply so aptly spoken, 
" Doubtless," said I, " what it utters is its only stock and store, 
Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful c.isaster 
Follow'd fast an I fo lowed faster, till his song one burden bore, — 
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore, 
Of " Nevermore — nevermore ! '' 

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, 
Straight I wheel'd a cushion' d seat in front of bird, and bust, and 

door, 
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore — 
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore 

Meant in croaking " Nevermore ! " 

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing 
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core ; 
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining 
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, 
But whose velvet violet lining, with the lamp-light gloating o'er, 
She «hall press — ah ! nevermore ! 

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen 

censer, 
Swung by seraphim, whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. 



THE RAVEN. 139 

"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he 

hath sent thee 
Respite — respite and nepenthe from the memories of Lenore ! 
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore ! " 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! " 

" Prophet ! " said I, " thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil ! 
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest toss'd thee here ashore, 
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — 
On this home by horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore — 
Is there — is there balm in Gilead ? — tell me — tell me, I implore ! " 
Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! " 

u Prophet ! " said I, "thing of evil ! — prophet still, if bird or devil ! 
By that heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore, 
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn, 
It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore ; 
Clasp a fair and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore ! " 
Quoth the raven, " Nevermore !" 

" Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend ! " I shrieked, 

upstarting — 
" Get thee back into the tempest and the night's Plutonian shore ! 
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken ! 
Leave my loneliness unbroken ! — quit the bust above my door ! 
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my 
door ! " 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! " 

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting 
On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door ; 
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming, 
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the 

floor ; 
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor, 

Shall be lifted — nevermore ! 



140 EECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 



THE LOYAL LEGION. 

COLONEL CHAS. G. HALPINE (MILES O'RIELLT). 

[This poem was read at the festival in honor of "Washington's Birthday, given 
by the Military Order of the Loyal Legion in Philadelphia, Feb. 22d, 1866.] 

Forever past the days of gloom, 

The long, sad days of doubt and fear, 
When woman, by her idle loom, 
Heard the dread battle's nearing boom 

With clasped hands and straining ear ; 
While each new hour the past pursues 

With further threat of loss and pain, 
Till the sick senses would refuse 
To longer drink the bloody news 

That told of sons and brothers slain. 

The days of calm at length are won, 

And, sitting thus, with folded hands, 
We talk of great deeds greatly done, 
While all the future seems to run 

A silvery tide o'er golden sands. 
With pomp the votive sword and shield 

The saviors of the land return ; 
And while new shrines to Peace we build, 
On our great banner's azure field 

Yet larger constellations burn ! 

Who bore the flag — who won the day 1 

The young proud manhood of the land, 
Called from the forge and plow away, 
They seized the weapons of the fray 

With eager but untutored hand ; 
They swarmed o'er all the roads that led 

To where the peril hottest burned — 
By night, by day, their hurrying tread 
Still southward to the struggle sped, 

Nor ever from their purpose turned. 



THE LOYAL LEGION. 141 

Why tell how long the contest hung, 

Now crowned with hope and now depressed, 
And how the varying balance sw r ung, 
Until, like gold in furnace flung, 

The truth grew stronger for the test 1 
'Twas our own blood we had to meet ; 

'Twas with full peers our swords were crossed 
Till in the march, assault, retreat, 
And in the school of stern defeat 

We learned success at bloody cost. 

Oh, comrades of the camp and deck ! 

All that is left by pitying Fate 
Of those who bore through fire and wreck, 
With sinewy arm and stubborn neck 

His flag whose birth we celebrate ! 
Oh, men, w T hose names, forever bright 

On history's golden tablets graved — 
By land, by sea who w r aged the fight, 
What guerdon will you ask to-night 

For service done, for perils braved 1 

The charging lines no more we see, 

No more w r e hear the din of strife ; 
Nor under every greenwood tree, 
Stretched in their life's great agony, 

Are those who wait the surgeon's knife ; 
No more the dreaded stretchers drip, 

The jolting ambulances groan ; 
No more, while all the senses slip, 
We hear from the soon silent lip 

The prayer for death as balm alone ! 

And ye who, on the sea's blue breast, 

And down the rivers of the land, 
With clouds of thunder as a crest, 
Where still your conquering prows were pressed — 

War's lightnings wielded in your hand ! 



142 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Ye, too, released, no longer feel 

The threat of battle, storm and rock — 

Torpedoes grating on the keel, 

While the strained sides with broadsides reel, 
And turrets feel the dinting shock. 

Joint saviors of the land ! To-day. 

What guerdon ask you of the land ? 
No boon too great for you to pray — 
What can it give that could repay 

The men we miss from our worn band 1 
The men who lie in trench and swamp, 

The dead who rock bene'ath the wave — 
The brother-souls of march and camp, 
Bright spirits — each a shining lamp, 

Teaching our children to be brave ! 



And thou — Great Shade ! in whom was nursed 

The germ and grandeur of our land — 
In peace, in war, in reverence first, 
Who taught our infancy to burst 

The tightening yoke of Britain's hand ! 
Thou, too, from thy celestial height 

Will join the prayer we make to-day — 
" Homes for the crippled in the fight, 
And, what of life is left, made bright 

By all that gratitude can pay." 

Teach these who loll in gilded seats, 

With nodding plume and jewelled gown, 
Boasting a pedigee that dates 
Back to the men who swayed the fates 

When thou wert battling Britain's crown. — 
That ere the world a century swims 

Through time — this poor, blue-coated host, 
With brevet-rank of shattered limbs, 
Will swell the fame in choral hymns 

And be of pride the proudest boast ! 



THE LOYAL LEGION. ' 143 

Homes for the heroes we implore, 

The brave who limbs and vigor gave, 
That — North and South, from shcre to shore 
One free, rich, boundless country o'er — 

The flag of Washington might wave ; 
The flag that first — the day recall — 

Long years ago, one summer morn, 
Flashed up o'er Independence Hall, 
A meteor-messenger to all 

That a new Nation here was born ! 

Oh, wives and daughters of the land ! 

To every gentler impulse true, 
To you we raise the invoking hand, 
Take pity on our stricken band, 

These demi-gods disguis d in blue ! 
More sweet than coo of pairing birds 

Your voice when urging gentle deeds, 
And power and beauty clothe her words — 
A west wind through the heart's thrilled chords 

When woman's voice for pity pleads. 

To you I leave the soldier's doom, 

Your glistening eyes assure me right ; 
Oh, think through many a night of gloom, 
When round you all was light and bloom, 

And he preparing for the fight — 
The soldier bade his fancy roam 

Far from the foe's battalions proud — 
From camps, and hot steeds champing foam, 
And fondly on your breast at home 

The forehead of his spirit bowed ! 

Oh, by the legions of the dead, 
Whose ears even yet our love may reach — 

Whose souls, in fight or prison fled, 

Now swarm in column overhead, 

Winging with fire my faltering speech ; — 



144 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

From stricken fields and ocean caves 

I hear their voice and cry instead — 
" Gazing upon our myriad graves, 
Be generous to the crippled braves 
Who were the comrades of the dead ! n 

Our cause was holy to the height 

Of holiest cause to manhood given ; 
For Peace and Liberty to smite, 
And while the warm blood bounded bright, 

For these to die, if called by Heaven ! 
The dead are cared for — in the clay 

The grinning skull no laurel seeks ; 
But for the wounded of the fray 
It is through my weak lips to-day 

The Order of the Legion speaks ! 



AGNES AND THE YEAES. 

CELTA M. BURR. 

" Maiden Agnes," said the Year in going, 
" What the message I shall bear from thee 

To the angels, who with love past knowing 
Fed the life-lamp of thy infancy 1 

When I reach them they will murmur low, 

1 What of our Agnes doth thy record show 1 ' " 

" Tell them, tell them that beside the sea 

I wait a passage to the Land of Morn ; 
For Hope has said, that o'er the waves to me 

A goodly vessel by the winds is borne ; 
To waft me proudly to that sunny land 
Where all the castles of my dreaming stand. 

" Day after day I watch the ships go by, 
And strain my eyes across the restless deep, 

Where, dimly pictured 'gainst the summer sky, 
The Hills of Morning in their beauty sleep. 



Catiline's defiance. 145 

But look ! even now across the shining sea 
The ship of promise bearing down for me." 

14 Woman Agnes, on the wreck-strewn shore, 

When the angels of thy infancy 
Ask if homeward turn thy steps once more, 

What, I pray thee, shall my answer be 1 
1 Tell us, tell us,' they will say, ' 0, Year, 
Draws the loved one unto us more near % • " 



" Leave me, leave me : all is lost — is lost ! 

My goodly ship is crumbled in the deep ; 
My trusted helmsman in the breakers tossed ; 

All's wrecked, all's wasted, e'en the power to weep. 
The mocking waves toss scornfully ashore 
The ruined treasures that are mine no more. 

" Leave me alone, to pore upon the waves, 
Whitened with upturned faces of the dead ; 

Earth for such corpses has, alas ! no graves ; 
No holy piles t has requiescat said. 

There's nothing left me but the bitter sea ; 

God and his angels have forgotten me." 

" Christian Agnes, in the firelight dreaming, 
What the message I shall bear from thee 

To the angels, whose soft eyes are beaming 
From the portal where they watch for me 1 

1 Is she coming 1 ' they will say ; ' 0, Year, 

Draw her footsteps to the Homeland near 1 ' " 

" This the message — that I sit no more 
With eyes bent idly on the Hills of Morn, 

That in the tempest, on the wreck-strewn shore, 
A holier purpose to my soul was born. 

Give leave to labor, was the prayer I said, 

Leaving the dead past to inter its dead. 

" And it was granted. By my hearth to-night, 
Tell the beloved ones, I sit alone, 



146 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

But not unhappy ; for the morning light 

Will show my pathway with its uses strewn. 
Happy in labor, say to them, 0, Year, 
I wait the Sabbath, which I trust draws near.'* 



CATILINE'S DEFIANCE. 

CROLY. 

Banished from Rome ! What's banished but set free 
From daily contact of the things I loathe 1 
" Tried and convicted traitor ! " — Who says this 1 
Who'll prove it at his peril, on my head 3 
Banished 7 I thank you for't ! It breaks my chains ! 
I held some slack allegiance till this hour, 
But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords ! 
I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes, 
Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, 
I have within my heart's hot cells shut up, 
To leave you in your lazy dignities ! 
But here I stand and scoff you ! — here I fling 
Hatred and full defiance in your face ! 
Your consul's merciful. For this, all thanks ! 
He dares not touch a hair of Catiline ! 
****** 
"Traitor ! " I go,— but I return ! This trial ! 
Here I devote your senate ! — I've had wrongs, 
To stir a fever in the blood of age, 
And make the infant's sinews strong as steel, 
This day's the birth of sorrow ! This hour's work 
Will breed proscriptions ! Look to your hearths, my lords ! 
For there henceforth shall sit for household gods, 
Shapes hot from Tartarus ! all shames and crimes ; 
Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn ; 
Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup ; 
Naked Rebellion, with the torch and axe, 
Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones, 
Till Anarchy come down on you like night, 
And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave! 



THE PERILS OF LOYALTY. 147 



THE PEEILS OF LOYALTY. 

A COLLOQUY IN THREE SCENES. 

F. B. WILSON. 

Note.— Scenes I. and II. are laid in a drawing room in Alfred Bellmont's 
house, -which should be furnished as drawing-rooms generally are, sofa, chairs, 
table, &c. Scene III. is laid in a prison cell, which can be very easily arrang- 
ed, by means of two or three clothes-horses, placed in a semicircle on the stage ; 
they should be covered with some kind of black cloth, and there should be a 
door at back of cell, and sentry standing by it. This cell should be furnished 
with a rude table, a couple of stools and a tallow candle —burning. The effect 
will be heightened by having the room quite dark during the third scene. 

Characters. 

Kate Barton, a Northern lady teaching in the South. 

Mildred Bellmont, ) 

Agnes Howard, V Southern ladies. 

Eudora Simpson, ) 

Alfred Bellmont, Mildred's father. 

Mark Brad sh aw, a coxcomb. 

John Denton, a State officer. 

Wm. Hasten, Prison keeper. 

Harry Chuncy, \ 

Arthur Chuncy, I Officers in Union army. 

Robert Wentworth, \ 

Sambo 

Bob, 

Soldiers, Attendants, &c 



\ Bellmont's slaves. 



Costumes. — Kate Barton — Plain dark dress in Scene I. — Scene 
II., morning dress — Scene III, same as Scene II, with black shawl 
thrown over shoulders. Mildred Bellmont — Scene I. and II. — Gay 
colored silk dress. — Scene III, walking dress and hat. Eudora Simp- 
son and Agnes Howard — Gay colored silk dresses, ornaments, §c. 
Bellmont — Fine dress suit. Bradshaw — Wliite pants and vest, dark 
coat, beaver, eye-glasses and fancy cane. Denton — Military hat and 
coat, sword and star. Hasten — Plain business suit. Harry and 
Arthur Chuncy — Lieutenant's uniform. Robert Wentworth — 



148 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Seargcnt's suit. Sambo — Dark pants and coat, white rest, gay necktie, 
. white kid glares. Bob — Coat and vest same as Sambo, white 
cotton glores and glazed cap. 

Scene I. — Kate Barton, seated at table, Mildred Bellmont and 
several other ladies seated near her, all have books; knock is heard 
at the door as curtain rises. 

Kate Barton. That must be Sambo with the mail. Come ! 

Enter Sambo, r. 

Sambo. Here be de mail, Missus ; I's jest frum de office 
and I's got lots of news to tell you. De people be all run- 
nin' up and down de street ; ebry body seem to care fer no 
one, and dey pust dis darkey fus on one side den on de 
other. Dey say dey will kill Massa Lincoln, dey will do just 
as dey please, and — and — I hev forgot all dey did say, but 
dey treated dis darkey like — like 

Kate. A letter from him, written in such a hasty man- 
ner, I cannot imagine what its contents may be ! (Opens and 
reads.) 

Sambo. You didn't gib me a chance to tell you all de news. 
De news confirmed fum 'liable source, is dat a great war has 
been fought in Yirginy las' week, and — and 

Mildred. I think, Sambo, that Miss Barton will be more 
interested in reading her letters than in listening to the 
news which you propose to relate, therefore we will excuse 
you. (Exit Sambo. Kate appears agitated. Mildred goes 
to her side.) "What is the matter, Kate ? you look faint, you 
tremble ; does that letter convey sad tidings to you ? 

Kate. I cannot tell you now. I am foolish to be over- 
come so easily. Tis nothing, I am calm again. (Takes up 
book.) "VYe will proceed no farther with this subject. I will 
now excuse you until to-morrow. (Exeunt students.) 'Tis 
true ! 'tis true ! War is now raging between North and 
South. This letter informs me that a brother and another, 
dearer than a brother, have gone forth to battle for the 
preservation of our Union. I have thought that it would 



THE PERILS OF LOYALTY. 149 

be settled without an appeal to arms, without the shedding 
of blood ; but a just God has ordained that it should be 
otherwise. Time is precious to me now ; I must make pre- 
parations to go to my Northern home. (Exd.) 

Enter Bellmont, Bradshaw, Agnes, Howard, Eudora Simp- 
son, and several other ladies and gentlemen, B. 

Bellmont. (Speaking as he enters.) Yes, we too, should do 
all in our power to aid the South. Our brave brothers have 
gone forth to fight for the maintenance of our rights ; we 
ought not to be idle at home. Let us put forth every effort 
to advance our cause ; and let us prepare ourselves to act 
on the defensive, should Northern hordes invade our State. 
Here is work for us all, both men and women. Let us show 
the Yankees that Southern chivalry cannot easily be over- 
thrown. 

Bradshaw. Just my sentiments, Alf, you and I always 
think alike about such things. Now, I'll tell you what 
they'd better do, and if you will use your influence I think 
that I will be able to do some big thing for the Southern 
Confederacy. 

Bellmont. Make your project known. 

Bradshaw. "Well, 'tis simply this, if you will endeavor to 
get me a position in the army, I'U fight till every Yankee is 
forced to leave the sacred soil of the South. I tell you what, 
Alf, I kinder think that I would make a dashing officer, and 
I'd like to see the Northern mud-sill that could stand before 
me. I know that I am not very highly educated in those 
dry branches usually pursued in schools ; such as mathe- 
matics, sciences, languages, etc., but where will you find a 
fellow that can dance or sing better than I ? Where will 
you find a fellow that will take better in the society of 
young ladies than myself ? I reckon you'd have to travel 
a right smart distance before you would find any. ( Walks 
up and down stage iciih his hands in pockets.) Wouldn't I cut a 
swell with a pair of epaulets on my shoulders, a sash thrown 
around me ? I reckon I would ! 



150 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Bellmont. Our influence will be used in order that your 
wishes may be met. 

Agnes. We, ladies, should learn how to use fire-arms. 
"We should be practiced in the art of musketry. Brutal ab- 
olitionists may raise insurrections in our very homes, and we 
should be prepared to meet them. I for one would be will- 
ing to sacrifice the last drop of blood in my veins before I 
would say, let us yield ; Northern mud-sills are beneath our 
notice ; the chivalric South should have a government of its 
own. 

Eudora. I have the same sentiments, Agnes. I have 
learned already how to fire the musket, and woe to the 
Yankee that attempts to cross the threshold of my father's 
house. 

Agnes. War then until Southern chivalry shall triumph 
over Yankee ingenuity. Are you, ladies, all of you willing 
to assist our brothers in their struggle for the right ? 

Ladies. We are, we are, our heart and hand is for South- 
ern rights. ( The company gather in small groups about the stage. 
Sambo and Bob enter.) 

Bob. Massa ! Massa ! hab you heard de 'telligence ? 
Sambo hes got de las' news. 

Sambo. Yes, Massa, a great war has been fought in Yir- 
giny. Massa Abraham dat libs up Norf hes been slewed ; 
and de army of de Souf hes driv dem from Bull Bun, and 
de las' report says dat dey heb took Washington, dat dey 
heb killed ebry officer in de Norfern army and — and 

Bellmont. I reckon, Sambo, that all the news you bring 
is not official. 

Sambo. But, Massa, dis be de truf, and if you will 
listen to dis darkey I will gib you all de 'telligence. 

Agnes. Keep quiet, you black slave that you are ; do you 
not suppose that the news is known to us as well as your- 
self? (Sambo and Bob retire to lack of stage.) 

Eudoba. What has become of the teacher that you had 
in your family, Mr. Bellmont ? she is a Northern lady, is she 
not? 



THE PERILS OF LOYALTY. 151 

Bellmont. Yes, she is, and is still in my family. I won- 
der if her sympathies are interested in our cause — but here 
she comes. 

Enter Kate and Mildred, l. 

Agnes. I doubt not but that Miss Barton is very much 
surprised to hear of the victory won over Northern .valor, 
as she terms it, by the chivalric South. 

Kate. I am feeling sad to-day, Miss Howard — I am in no 
mood to argue with you. War has come. The North and 
South are foes to each other ; time will tell how the struggle 
will terminate. My prayer is, that God will defend the 
right. 

Eudora. We know, Miss Barton, what you consider the 
right ; and I think that you ought not be allowed to com- 
municate with your Northern friends. 

Agnes. (Aside to Bellmont.) Do you think that it would 
be policy to examine her letters ? 

Bellmont. I had not thought of it before. She received 
some letters yesterday. Who can imagine their contents ? 

Agnes. Let them be examined by all means — bring her 
before the authorities. 

Bellmont. I will see to it immediately. She must not 
be permitted to leave the house until this has been attended 
to. (Bellmont starts to leave.) 

Kate. Mr. Bellmont, I have concluded to go North. My 
departure is rather unexpected ; but I know that it is my 
duty to be at my home during the contest which we see ap- 
proaching. Will you assist me in my departure ? 

Bellmont. Well, yes ; i. e., I don't suppose that you wish 
to leave immediately ? I might 

Kate. Yes, sir, I wish to leave immediately. I know of 
no reason why there should be any delay. 

Agnes. (Aside.) Do not permit her to go North until her 
letters have been searched. 

Bellmont. (To Agnes.) I will attend to that. (To Kate.) 
Business calls me away for the present, do not be in any 



152 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

haste to leave us. We will send you North at our very earliest 
convenience. {Exit.) 

Mildred. Be patient Kate, pa is excited now, he will 
certainly aid you on your journey home. 

Bradshaw. (Coming toward Kate.) I don't see, Miss 
Barton, why you should desire to go home. You have been 
so long in the South, that I reckon all your sympathies are 
with our cause. Stay with us then and enjoy the certain 
victory that we will gain over the Yankees. It is very 
dangerous for a young lady to travel unaccompanied. I 
don't think that you have considered this, or you certainly 
would not be so rash as to expose yourself to the dangers 
that will attend your trip. 

Kate. My sympathies are with my country. I know of 
no dividing line between the North and South. My prayer 
is, that God will not suffer our glorious Union to be severed. 
This is my prayer, this is my hope ; and I humbly trust that 
He will grant freedom to millions now in bondage. Mr. 
Bradshaw, these are my sentiments ; they are the sentiments 
of every true patriot, and he who cannot pray for this is a 
traitor to his country. (Exit Kate and Mildred.) 

Agnes. The prison is a fitting place for one who speaks 
against the Southern Confederacy as she does. 

Bradshaw. I reckon that six months in prison will 
change those sentiments. {Exit all, except Sambo a/irf Bob.) 

Bob. I feel berry bad, Sambo, since I have heard de las' 
news. 

Sambo, I don't bleeb it be all truf. 'Cause don't you 
know Massa said he didn't bleeb it all. I jes hope Massa 
Lincoln a'n't dead, and dat he will free us poor niggers. 

Bob. Oh ! what a day of 'joicing it would be if to all de 
colored pussons dey would gib liberty ! 

Sambo. But, Bob, don't les' stand here talkin' any longer. 
Les' go and see if we can't hear more news. Oh ! wouldn't 
I bress de Lor' if dis colored nigger was free. 

Bob. Why I bleeb if I was a free nigger, and I knowed it 



THE PERILS OF LOYALTY. 153 

to-day, I bleeb, Sambo, dat I'd die 'cause I'd be so full of 

glad. 

End of Scene I. 

Scene II. — Kate Barton seated alone writing. Number of letters 
laying on the table, r. c. 

Kate. What a life of anxiety I am leading ! How I de- 
sire to be at my Northern home. I sometimes ask myself why 
I ever came here. But why ask myself that question, it was 
love of travelling. I have always had a desire to wander 
from my home. I felt that in the South, engaged in teach- 
ing, I would be content. I can truly say that I have spent 
many happy hours in the sunny South; but now duty 
calls me to my home. I must leave friends and acquaint- 
ances and consider them my enemies. (Advances.) For the 
maintenance of right, a brother and a lover have exposed 
their lives ; they have gone forth breathing the true patriotic 
spirit of their forefathers — willing to die, if need be, for their 
country. How I honor them for their noble examples of 
patriotism, though I tremble for their fate. Yet I thank God 
that I have friends willing to peril their lives in defence of 
the right, and when I reach my home I, too, will do all I can 
for the preservation of the Union. 

Enter Mildred, r. 

Mildred. Are you making preparations to leave us, Kate ? 

Kate. Yes, Mildred, I must say good-bye to you. You are 
the best friend I ever had, you are still as true to me as ever, 
but you know that our sympathies are on different sides of 
this great question, and 

Mildred. Do not be too sure of that. My parents will, 
of course, defend the cause of the South, but I, — Kate can 
you and will you keep a secret, if I tell you one that no one 
knows except myself? I feel the need of a confidant at this 
time. 

Kate. You need not fear to trust me with your secret, 
Mildred. Make me vour confidant. 



154 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Mildred. Listen then to my story : — About a year ago I 
formed the acquaintance of a young man who was spending 
his vacation in this city {Charleston, Mo.), and our friendship 
ripened into love. He was a Northern young man attending 
a college in the North. This summer he graduated, and 
he has now entered the Union army. I had a letter from 
him a short time ago in which he plainly exhibits a pat- 
riotic spirit. Kate, I love him — he is true to me. I cannot 
see where the South has in any way been wronged by the 
North. I am as patriotic as yourself ; how can I have you 
leave me ! 

Kate. You have a noble spirit, Mildred. How our hearts 
are twined together ! I too have a lover in the North, and he, 
like your own, has gone forth at his country's call to aid her 
in this her hour of need. May I ask the name of the person 
that has won your love, Mildred ? 

Mildred. Arthur Chuncy. 

Kate. A brother to Harry ; I recollect now that Arthur 
paid a visit to the South a year ago. He is a noble young 
man and worthy of your love. 

Mildred. I am so glad you know him. We have always 
been toward each other as sisters, and I truly hope that we 
may become such. 

Kate. Dear Mildred, how can we part ? you must accom- 
pany me on my journey home. 

Mildred. Would that I could, but my father would not 
listen to such an arrangement. What shall we do ? but here 
comes father. Let us step aside a moment — come to my 
room. (Exeunt, L.) 

Enter Alfred Bellmont, r. 

Bellmont. The stand covered with letters, the contents of 
which may be of great consequence to the Confederate Gov- 
ernment. Mildred seems to favor her the same as usual, 
their friendship must he Iroken. My daughter shall not be 
the friend of her who is an enemy to the South. Several 
officers will be here soon to examine her letters. I reckon 



THE PERILS OF LOYALTY. 155 

that that will have a tendency to sever the friendship now 
so strong. 

Enter Kate and Mildred, l. 

Kate. I am glad that you have returned so soon, Mr. Bell- 
niont. I have completed my arrangements, and I should like 
to start North on the morrow. Can you assist me ? 

Bellmoxt. Well — yes — that is — if you are ready — but — 
but— 

Kate. But what ? I am anxious to go as soon as possible, 
and every day that I delay my departure makes it a more 
perilous journey. 

Mildred. It is our duty, father, to assist Kate all we can 
at this time. She has done so much for us while here, we 
at least should see that she may return safely to her home. 

Bellmoxt. (Aside.) Why don't those officers come ! "What 
shall I say to calm their minds ? (Aload.) I will go soon and 
arrange matters for your journey. You must not wonder at 
my mutterings, I am excited on account of the affairs of the 
country. (Xoise is heard without. Bellmont looks out.) "What can 
this mean? several officers at my door! Sambo is letting 
them in. I don't understand the reason for all this. (Kate 
and Mildred appear terrified.) 

Enter Sambo conducting several officers into the room. Dextox comes 

first, r. 

Sambo. Massa Bellmont, a delegation from de city coun- 
cil call to see you. (Aside.) I wonder what big things is 
gwine to be did now ? I will git Bob and we'll hark and 
hear ebery word dat dey say. (Shakes his head towards audience 
and exit.) 

Dextox. (Motions Bellmoxt aside.) How had we best pro- 
ceed with this business ? Shall I tell the lady that you re- 
ported to the authorities — that you think her letters should 
be examined ? 

Bellmoxt. Not for the world. Let us make her believe 
that 1 know nothing of your visit. Tell her that it is your 
duty to examine the letters of Northern persons, and know- 



156 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

ing that she is from the North, you have come for that pur- 
pose. Don't bring me into the scrape at all, for she has not 
the slightest reason to suspect me. 

Denton. (Advances toward the ladies.) I have been sent 
here, Miss Barton, to examine your letters ; knowing that 
you have correspondents in the North. I suppose that you 
will have no objections to our inspection of them, and we 
wish you to produce them. 

Kate. I have correspondents in the North, sir, but no in- 
telligence is contained in those letters that will benefit either 
the North or the South, and for certain reasons I do not wish 
to show them. (Goes to table and takes letters.) 

Denton. If you will not allow us to see your letters will- 
ingly we shall be forced to compel you to produce them. 

Mildred. I am sorry for you, Kate, but I can think of no 
alternative, I fear you must show your letters. 

Kate. (Producing letters reluctantly.) Here they are, sir, all 
the letters I have received for the past few months. Read 
them and satisfy yourself that I have spoken the truth. (As 
Denton takes the letters the others gather eagerly around, while he 
reads. Kate and Mildred talk aside.) 

Sambo and Bob enter cautiously, r. 

Sambo. This am strange proceedings, Bob ; I guess they 
am gwine to do sumthin' awful. 

Bob. Just you keep your longated mouth clus, things will 
be splanified as soon as dey read dem papers. (Exit.) 

Denton. ( Comes to the side of Bellmont, who has been pacing 
the floor in siknce.) There is nothing here that will condemn 
the lady. Here are some strong expressions of Yankee patri- 
otism, but nothing of importance to us ; still we do not know 
the contents of her letters to her friends. 

Bellmont. I think that it would not be policy to let her 
go North, knowing what she does of the state of affairs in 
the South. 

Denton. My plan would be to take her to prison. (The 
whole gang nod assent.) Miss Barton, we do not find any- 



THE PERILS OF LOYALTY. 157 

thing of importance in these letters, but we do not consider 
it proper for you to have any correspondents in the North, 
and we 

Kate. I ask not the privilege of writing to Northern 
friends, I simply ask to be sent home. 

Denton. But you see it would not do to allow you to 
leave here and go North at this time. You know too much 
about the state of affairs in the South. 

Kate. What then will you do with me ? You will not 
allow me to go to my home, nor to write to my friends ; 
I would rather die than have neither of these privileges 
granted me. 

Denton. We have not come here to talk or parley, there- 
fore I will make my purpose known. We have orders to 
arrest any Northern persons that we find on the sacred soil 
of the South ; and we have found you to be a Northern 
sympathizer. 

Kate. Oh ! this injustice ! can you expect that a righteous 
God will approve of such acts of inhumanity? 

Denton. (Taking no notice of her question.) Are you ready 
to accompany us ? 

Kate. ( Throwing herself on her hiees before him.) Spare me ! I 
pray you, spare me ! 

Mildred. (Weeping.) Father, can you do nothing to pre- 
vent this wretched and horrible fate to which Kate seems 
doomed ? 

Bellmont. I can do nothing against the will of the 
authorities. (Mildred endeavors to console Kate.) 

Denton. Come, we are losing time. (Denton goes end, one 
of the attendants pushes Kate towards the door, she goes out, he 
follows her, the other attendants follow.) 

Bellmont. No one can say that I have not done my duty 
in this matter. Would that every Northern mud-sill was 
strung up. (Mildred sits with her face buried in her handker- 
chief.) 

Eyxter Sambo and Bob. 

Bob. I tell you, Sambo, this am strange proceedings, dey 



158 KECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

am gwine to do somthun' dreadful, I wonder if dey allers 
kill eberybody dat can do no harm, when dar is war ? 

Sambo. Poor missus, dey take her to prison, and it will 
break de heart ob Missus Mildred. I tell you what, Bob, 
let us trive sumthin , , may be we can get missus out of prison. 
Wouldn't it be mighty nice ? 

Bob. Come on den, we will discuss de solemn question in 
de back yard. 

Exeunt Sambo and Bob, Mildred rises and comes to front of stage. 

Mildred. Little do those who live in the North know 
of the horrors of war. Their homes are unmolested. They 
have no friends torn from their bosoms, and dragged to the 
prison cell. "When I reflect I am almost frantic ; my father 
is a fierce rebel ; he is opposed to my union with a Northern 
man ; I believe that the institution of slavery is a curse ; 
and I humbly and meekly pray that God will grant victory 
to the Union cause, and freedom to all the oppressed. 

[Exit as curtain falls. 

End of Scene II. 

Scene III. — A prison cell — Kate seated by a table, writing by the 
light of a candle. 

Enter Keeper. 

Keeper. "We cannot furnish you with light all of the time, 
miss. It appears to me that you have a great deal of writ- 
ing to do ; what are these ? letters ? I'd like to know how 
you are going to send them, "Well, miss, do you think you 
will need anything to eat to day ? 

Kate. I feel quite hungry, I think that I can eat some- 
thing. 

Keeper. "Well, you can't live if you don't eat. 

Kate. Little did I ever think that a prison cell would 
be my abode. "What a wretched fate is mine ! I am at 
times too bold in expressing my sentiments. I love my 
country and I always give free expression to my thoughts. 



THE PERILS OF LOYALTY. 159 

I wish that Mildred would come and see me. She, poor 
girl, is nearly as wretched as myself. I am now seeing the 
horror of civil war. Few know what some of us are called 
upon to suffer. The only hope of escape I have is that it 
may be possible that this place will fall into the hands of 
the Union forces. 

Boors open at back of cell, Keeper and Mildred enter. 

Mildred. {After Keeper has gone out.) I have been trying 
for several days to pay you a visit, Kate, but all my move- 
ments have been watched by my father. I am not allowed 
to leave the house unaccompanied ; but by a certain plan I 
have at last succeeded in obtaining an interview with you. 
Sambo and Bob assisted me or I never could have left my 
home. 

Kate. I have been writing some letters to-day, and I 
want to ask you if you can send them North for me ? Could 
these letters reach my Northern friends, they would use 
every means in their power to have me released. 

Mildred. I am sorry for your sake, Kate, but it is im- 
possible. I have been trying some time to send a letter 
North, but the Northern mails have been closed, and I pre- 
sume there will be no communication between the North 
and South until this fearful struggle shall have ended. 

Kate. {Despairingly). Is there then no hope for my release ? 
must I then remain in this gloomy prison until the termi- 
nation of the war? Death, Mildred, would be preferable to 
such a life. 

Mildred. How willingly would I assist you to escape 
the prison cell were it in my power. Oh ! Kate, we are both 
very wretched. You are confined to your cell, yet I am 
confined as closely at my home. One gleam of hope cheers 
me. It is this : I believe that the struggle will be short. 
It may be desperate, and the slaughter great, still I hope 
and pray that a decided victory may be obtained by the 
foes of the South, and that the war may come to a speedy 
termination. 



160 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Kate. Hope and pray is the Christain's motto, and let it 
be ours during this rebellion. I will try to be calm, try to 
submit calmly to my fate. 

Mildred. I have tarried here, Kate, as long as I dare, 
I will come and visit you soon again. Good-bye, now ; let 
us be earnest in our prayers. God has us in His power. 
He would not permit us to suffer thus were it not for some 
righteous purpose. (Kate follows Mildred to the door, then 
sits down with her head resting on hand.) 

Enter Keeper and Bradshaw. 

Keeper. I wonder if she is asleep ? "Well, Bradshaw, I'll 
leave you to do the talking ; I reckon you'll get along as 
well were I absent. [Exit Keeper. 

Bradshaw. Are you as patriotic as ever, my dear miss ? 
Don't you feel sorry that your sympathies are not interested 
in our cause ? (Kate holes up.) I have come to have a social 
talk with you. I reckon you are glad to see me ? 

Kate. What do you wish to say to me, sir ? Why do you 
pay me a visit in this cell ? 

Bradshaw. I have come to release you. I am your best 
friend. I have power to release you from this gloomy cell. 

Kate. Speak, then, let me know the conditions on which 
you can free me from this terrible prison. 

Bradshaw. It will be necessary, Miss Barton, for you to 
change your sentiments, which you know is a very easy 
matter. You must be a Southern lady to all appearances, 
and if you will do this I will marry you. I am rich, and 
plenty shall be your portion through life. You know that 
I have always taken an interest in your welfare, and it 
pains my heart to see you confined in this dismal cell. What 
think you of my offer ? 

Kate. (Rising.) I reject you and your offer ; rather than 
be the wife of a man who is the foe to my country, rather, I 
say, would I spend the remainder of my life in prison. 
Love is something, Mr. Bradshaw, that cannot be bought. 

Bradshaw. You may do as you please, miss, and try life 



THE PERILS OF LOYALTY. 161 

in prison for a few years. I reckon that high spirit of yours 
will get lowered. (Aside.) I will not say anything more about 
this until I get my commission. A uniform often makes a 
difference in the thoughts of a girl. (Aloud.) Miss Barton, re- 
member we are deadly enemies. [Exit. 

Kate. There is a specimen of Southern chivalry. He 
will vent his revenge on me, a lady, who can aid neither 
North or South, in the least. Let me reflect on my position ; 
I am here in prison, no one can assist me in my endeavors 
to escape ; and, were I free, of what benefit would it be to 
me ? I could not go North, therefore liberty would avail me 
nothing. This rebel has told me that he is my enemy. He 
is wealthy, therefore he has great influence. I am wholly 
in his power, and at his mercy. I cannot imagine what my 
fate may be. When I was brought to this cell I was allowed 
to bring a small valise with me, in which I have a vial con- 
taining a deadly poison, and I am resolved to drink it, and 
thus save myself from a fate that may be far worse. I be- 
lieve that God will pardon such an act, for one thing is cer- 
tain, my days can be but few at the longest. (Goe% to valise, 
takes out vial, fours out some in a glass of water.) One moment 
and the struggle is over ; but a prayer first. 

Kneels, rises and takes up glass. Sound of drum and fife in the dis- 
tance. She listens ; sound comes nearer and louder, the doors of 
the cell hurst open. Several soldiers enter, JJ. S. uniform, headed by 
Wentworth. Cadet bearing American flag. Shouts. 

Kate. Explain, soldiers ; do you belong to the Union 
army ? 

Wentworth. All we need say is, that the Union forces 
are in possession of this place. The prison doors are open ; 
if you were a prisoner you are now free. 

Enter Harry Chuncy, in disguise of an old man, grey whiskers. 

Harry. (Speaks to Wentworth.) Don't notice me, I have 
a particular purpose in this. Call the soldiers. 
Wentworth. Come, boys, let us go and see if we can 



162 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

burst the doors of another prison. Let freedom be given to 
all the oppressed and to all in bondage. (Exeunt soldiers and 
Wentwortij.) 

Harry. You are free now to go where you please, but 
may I ask you how you came to be confined in this cell ? 
Are you a Northern lady ? 

Kate. I am imprisoned on account of my love for my coun- 
try. I am a Northern lady, and have been teaching in the 
South. Sir, if you possess the spirit of true patriotism, as I be- 
lieve you do, you can aid me much at this time. I desire to 
go to my Northern hdme ; I know that it would be too dan- 
gerous a journey for me to undertake alone. But I have a 
favor to ask of you. I have here two letters, I wish to send 
them North ; can you send them for me, and can you find 
safe accommodations for me somewhere in this city until I 
receive an answer? 

Harry. I think I can send them. You need not fear but 
that I will find safe accommodations. (Kate hands him let- 
ters.) I am acquainted with Harry Chuncy, the person to 
whom one of these letters is addressed. 

Kate. Do you know in what division of the army he is 
at this time ? 

•Harry. Yes, I think he is in our corps. Do you 

Kate. Oh ! sir, if you know him, bring him to me. You 
know not our thoughts toward each other. 

Harry. (Aside.) True to the last. (Steps behind her and 
throws off disguise.) Kate ! 

Kate. Harry, how you deceived me ! (Embrace.) 

Enter Mildred. 

Harry. I have the pleasure, dear Mildred, of introducing 
you to my Northern friend of whom we have so often con- 
versed. {Introduces. ) 

Mildred. I am so glad for your sake, Kate. We can 
truly see that the eye of God is upon us. God will not per- 
mit any of his people to suffer unjustly. (Enter, unperceived 
by any, Arthur Chuncy, at bach of stage.) How I wish, 



THE PERILS OF LOYALTY. 163 

Kate, that I could meet one whom I doubt not is as brave 
as the young lieutenant by your side. Mr. Chuncy, can 
you tell me where your 

Arthur. He is here. Can you love one who is a foe to 
the South, and who is willing to sacrifice his last drop of 
blood on the altar of his country that freedom may be 
estabHshed ? 

Kate. I am as true a patriot as yourself. Your senti- 
ments are the same as my own. 

Music during the playing. Kate stands with her hands in Harry's, 
and Arthur and Mildred in the same position. Enter Sambo 
and Bob. 

Bob. Dis am berry good news, Sambo. 'Spect dem North- 
ern folks 'going to free us poor niggers. 

Sambo. Dey tell me dat dey is 'goin to fuse de blessins of 
cibel and 'ligious liberty, and let de 'pressed go free. 

Bob. Hurra ! Hurra ! Dis nigger mos' gone up wid glad. 

(Sings.) " Oh! carry me back to old Virginy, 
To ole Virginy shorah." 

Sambo. (Sings.) 

" Now ladies' don't you blush, 

When I come out to play. 
I'se only goin' to please you, 

Den I'se goin' away." 

Bob. Come, you thoughtless nigger, you'd better be 
'nectin' on what business you is goin' in, now you is free. 

Sambo. Les' talk it over in de back yard. Dis darkey 
tink dat dey is havin' a good time. Come, Bob. (Exit botk y 
singing. Harry and Kate advance to right of stage y Arthur 
and Mildred to left.) 

Mildred. I am happy to-night, Arthur ; and I do not 
fear but that God will defend the right in this great con- 
test. 

Arthur. The war has just commenced. The struggle 



164 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

may be bloody, but the result I prophesy will be freedom to 
millions now in bondage. You, Mildred, are a true patriot. 

Harry. Your patriotism, Kate, has had a severe test. 
You have been true to your country ; and you will be called 
upon to suffer no more imprisonments and trials like those 
you have undergone. A righteous God is ever mindful 
of us. 

Kate. I thank God that I yet live ; that He did not allow 
me to take the poison I held so near my lips. But I thank 
him yet more for this triumph of Northern valor over 
Southern chivalry. 

Harry. Kate. Mildred. Arthur. 

CURTAIN. 



CLAUDE MELNOTTE'S APOLOGY AND DE- 
FENCE. 

LORD LYTTON. 

Pauline, by pride 
Angels have fallen e'er thy time : by pride — 
That sole alloy of thy most lovely mould — 
The evil spirit of a bitter love 
And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee. 
From my first years my soul was filled with thee : 
I saw thee midst the flowers the lowly boy 
Tended, unmarked by thee — a spirit of bloom, 
And joy and freshness, as spring itself 
Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape I 
I saw thee, and the passionate heart of man 
Enter'd the breast of the wild-dreaming boy ; 
And from that hour I grew — what to the last 
1 shall be — thine adorer ! Well, this love, 
Vain, frantic — guilty, if thou wilt, became 
A fountain of ambition and bright hope ; 
I thought of tales that by the winter hearth 
Old gossips tell — how maidens sprung from kings 
Have stoop'd from their high sphere ; how Love, like Death, 



CLAUDE MELNOTTE'S APOLOGY AND DEFENCE. 165 

Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook 

Beside the sceptre. Thus I made my home 

In the soft palace of a fairy Future ! 

My father died ; and I, the peasant-born, 

Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise 

Out of the prison of my mean estate ; 

And, with such jewels as the exploring mind 

Brings from the caves of Knowledge, buy my ransom 

From those twin jailers of the daring heart — 

Low birth and iron fortune. Thy bright image, 

Glass'd in my soul, took all the hues of glory, 

And lured me on to those inspiring toils 

By which man masters men ! For thee, I grew 

A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages ! 

For thee, I sought to borrow from each Grace, 

And every Muse, such attributes as lend 

Ideal charms to Love. I thought of thee, 

And passion taught me poesy, — of thee, 

And on the painter's canvas grew the life 

Of beauty ! — Art became the shadow 

Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes ! 

Men called me vain — some, mad — I heeded not ; 

But still toil'd on — hoped on, — for it was sweet, 

If not to win, to feel more worthy, thee ! 

******* 

At last, in one mad hour, I dared to pour 

The thoughts that burst their channels into song, 

And sent them to thee— such a tribute, lady, 

As beauty rarely scorns — even from the meanest. 

The name — appended by the burning heart 

That long'd to show its idol what bright things 

It had created — yea, the enthusiast's name, 

That should have been thy triumph, was thy scorn ! 

That very hour — when passion, turn'd to wrath, 

Resembled hatred most — when thy disdain 

Made my whole soul a chaos — in that hour 

The tempters found me a revengeful tool 

For their revenge ! Thou hadst tranpled on the worm — 

It turned, and stung thee ! 



166 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 



THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR 

SAMUEL FEBGUSSON, Q. C. 

Come, see the Dolphin's anchor forged ; 'tis at a white heat now ; 
The billows ceased, the flames decreased ; though on the forge's 

brow 
The little flames still fitfully play through the sable mound ; 
And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths ranking round, 
All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only bare ; 
Some rest upon their sledges here, some work the windlass there. 

The windlass strains the tackle-chains, the black mound heaves 

below, 
And red and deep a hundred veins burst out at every throe ; 
It rises, roars, rends all outright — 0, Vulcan, what a glow ! 
'Tis blinding white, 'tis blasting bright, the high sun shines not so ! 
The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery fearful show ; 
The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy, lurid row 
Of smiths, that stand, an ardent band, like men before the foe ; 
As quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing monster slow 
Sinks on the anvil — all about the faces fiery grow — 
" Hurrah ! " they shout, leap out — leap out : " bang, bang, the 

sledges go ; 
Hurrah ! the jetted lightnings are hissing high and low ; 
A hailing fount of fire is struck at every squashing blow ; 
The leathern mail rebounds the hail ; the rattling cinders strow 
The ground around ; at every bound the sweltering fountains flow ; 
And thick and loud the swinking crowd, at every stroke, pant 

"Ho!" 

Leap out, leap out, my masters ; leap out and lay on load ! 
Let's forge a goodly anchor, a bower, thick and broad ; 
For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow, I bode, 
And I see the good ship riding, all in a perilous road ; 
The low reef roaring on her lee, the roll of ocean poured 
From stem to stern, sea after sea, the mainmast by the board ; 
The bulwarks down, the rudder gone, the boats stove at the chains, 
But courage still, brave mariners, the bower still remains, 



THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. 167 

And not an inch to flinch he deigns save when ye pitch sky-high, 
Then moves his head, as though he said, " Fear nothing — here 

am I!" 
Swing in your strokes in order, let foot and hand keep time, 
Your blows make music sweeter far than any steeple's chime ! 
But while ye swing your sledges, sing ; and let the burden be, 
The Anchor is the Anvil King, and royal craftsmen we ; 
Strike in, strike in, the sparks begin to dull their rustling red ! 
Our hammers ring with sharper din, our work will soon be sped ; 
Our anchor soon must change his bed of fiery rich array, 
For a hammock at the roaring bows, or an oozy couch of clay ; 
Our anchor soon must change the lay of merry craftsmen here, 
For the Yeo-heave-o, and the Heave-away, and the sighing seaman's 

cheer ; 
When weighing slow, at eve they go, far, far from love and home, 
And sobbing sweethearts, in a row, wail o'er the ocean foam. 

In livid and obdurate gloom, he darkens down at last. 
A shapely one he is, and strong as e'er from cat was cast 
A trusted and trustworthy guard, if thou hadst life like me, 
What pleasures would thy toils reward beneath the deep green sea ! 
0, deep sea-diver, who might then behold such sights as thou 7 
The hoary monsters' palaces ! methinks what joy 'twere now 
To go plump plunging down amid the assembly of the whales, 
And feel the churn'd sea round me boil beneath their scourging 
tails ! 

Then deep in tangle-woods to fight the fierce sea-unicorn, 
And send him foiled and bellowing back, for all his ivory horn ; 
To leave the subtle sworder-fish, of bony blade forlorn, 
And for the ghastly grinning shaik, to laugh his jaws to scorn; 
To leap down on the kraken's back, where 'mid Norwegian isles 
He lies, a lubber anchorage, for sudden shallowed miles : 
Till snorting, like an under-sea volcano, off he rolls, 
Meanwhile to swing, a-buflfeting the far-astonished shoals 
Of his back-browsing ocean calves ; or haply in a cove, 
Shell-strown, and consecrate of old to some Undine's love, 
To find the long-haired mermaidens ; or, hard-by icy lands, 
To wrestle with the sea-serpent, upon cerulean sands. 



168 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

0, broad-armed Fisher of the deep, whose sports can equal thine 1 
The Dolphin weighs a thousand tons that tugs thy cable line : 
And night by night 'tis thy delight, thy glory day by day, 
Through sable sea and breaker white, the giant game to play ; 
But, shamer of our little sports ! forgive the name I gave, 
A fisher's joy is to destroy — thine office is to save. 

0, lodger in the sea-king's halls, couldst thou but understand 
Whose be the white bones by thy side, or who that dripping band, 
Slow swaying in the heaving wave, that round about thee bend, 
With sounds like breakers in a dream, blessing their ancient friend — 
Oh, couldst thou know what heroes glide with larger steps round 

thee, 
Thine iron side would swell with pride, thoudst leap within the sea ! 

Give honor to their memories who left the pleasant strand, 

To shed their blood so freely for the love of fatherland — 

Who left their chance of quiet age and grassy church-yard grave 

So freely, for a restless bed amid the tossing wave — 

Oh, though our anchor may not be all I have fondly sung, 

Honor him for their memory, whose bones he goes among ! 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 

H. W. LONGFELLOW. 

It was the schooner Hesperus, 

That sailed the wintry sea ; 
And the skipper had taken his little daughter, 

To bear him company. 

Blue were her eyes, as the lairy-flax, 

Her cheeks like the dawn of day, 
And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, 

That ope in the month of May. 

The skipper he stood beside the helm, 
His pipe was in his mouth, 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 169 

And watched how the veering flaw did blow 
The smoke now west, now south. 

Then up and spake an old sailor, 

Had sailed the Spanish Main, 
u I pray thee, put into yonder port, 

For I fear a hurricane. 

" Last night the moon had a golden ring, 
• And to-night no moon we see ! ' 
The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe, 
And a scornful laugh laughed he. 

Colder and louder blew the wind, 

A gale from the northeast ; 
The snow fell hissing in the brine, 

And the billows frothed like yeast. 

Down came the storm, and smote amain 

The vessel in its strength ; 
She shuddered and paused, like a frightened steed, 

Then leaped her cable's length. 

" Come hither ! come hither ! my little daughter, 

And do not tremble so ; 
For I can weather the roughest gale 

That ever wind did blow." 

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat, 

Against the stinging blast ; 
He cut a rope from a broken spar, 

And bound her to the mast. 

"0, father ! I hear the church-bells ring, 

Oh, say, what may it be 1 " 
" 'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast ! " 

And he steered for the open sea. 

"0, father ! I hear the sound of guns, 
Oh, say, what may it be V 



170 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

" Some ship in distress, that cannot live 
In such an angry sea ! " 

" 0, father ! I see a gleaming light, 

Oh, say, what may it be 1 " 
But the father answered never a word ! 

A frozen corpse was he. 

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, 
With his face turned to the skies, 

The lantern gleamed through the glancing snow 
On his fixed and glassy eyes. 

Then the maiden clasped her hands, and prayed 

That saved she might be ; 
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the waves 

On the Lake of Galilee. 

And fast through the midnight dark and drear, 
Through the whistling sleet and snow, 

Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 
Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. 

And ever the fitful gusts between 

A sound came from the land ; 
It was the sound of the trampling surf 

On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 

The breakers were right beneath her bows, 

She drifted a dreary wreck, 
And a whooping billow swept the crew, 

Like icicles, from her deck. 

She struck where the white and fleecy waves 

Looked soft as carded wool, 
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side, 

Like the horns of an angry bull. 

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, 
With the masts, went by the board ; 



THE MAN OF ROSS. 171 

Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, 
Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared. 

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, 

A fisherman stood aghast, 
To see Xhe form of a maiden fair 

Lashed close to a drifting mast. 

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 

The salt tears in her eyes ; 
And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, 

On the billows fall and rise. 

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 

In the midnight and the snow ! 
Christ, save us all from a death like this, 

On the reef of Norman's Woe ! 



THE MAN OF EOSS. 

ALEXANDER POPE. 

All our praises why should lords engross 1 

Rise, honest Muse ! and sing the Man of Ross : 
Pleased Vaga echoes through her winding bounds, 
And rapid Severn hoarse applause resounds. 
Who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry brow 1 
From the dry rock who bade the waters flow 1 
Not to the skies in useless columns tost, 
Or in proud falls magnificently lost ; 
But clear and artless, pouring through the plain 
Health to the sick, and solace to the swain. 
Whose causeway parts the vale with shady rows 1 
Whose seats the weary traveller repose I 
Who taught that heaven-directed spire to rise 1 
" The Man of Ross," each lisping babe replies. 
Behold the market-place with poor o'erspread ! 
The Man of Ross divides the weekly bread : 
He feeds yon almshouse, neat, but void of state, 
Where age and want sit smiling at the gate : 



172 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. ' 

Him portioned maids, apprenticed orphans blessed, 
The young who labor, and the old who rest. 
Is any sick 7 the Man of Ross relieves, 
Prescribes, attends, the medicine makes and gives. 
Is there a variance 7 enter but his door, 
Baulked are the courts, and contest is no more. 
Despairing quacks with curses fled the place, 
And vile attorneys, now a useless race. 

Thrice happy man ! enabled to pursue 
What all so wish, but want the power to do ! 
0, say ! what sums that generous hand supply 7 
What mines to swell that boundless charity 7 

Of debts and taxes, wife and children clear, 
This man possessed- five hundred pounds a year. 
Blush, Grandeur, blush ! proud Courts, withdraw your blaze ! 
Ye little stars, hide your diminished rays ! 

And what ! no monument, inscription, stone 7 
His race, his form, his name almost unknown 7 

Who builds a church to God, and not to fame, 
Will never mark the marble with his name : 
Go, search it there, where to be born and die, 
Of rich and poor makes all the history ; 
Enough, that virtue filled the space between ; 
Proved by the ends of being to have been. 



NO WOEK THE HAEDEST WOEK. 

C. F 

Ho ! ye who at the anvil toil, 

And strike the sounding blow, 
Where from the burning iron's breast 

The sparks fly to and fro, 
While answering to the hammer's ring, 

And fire's intenser glow — 
Oh ! while ye feel 'tis hard to toil 

And sweat the long day through, 
Remember it is harder still 

To have no work to do. 



NO WORK THE HARDEST WORK. 173 

Ho ! ye who till the stubborn soil, 

Whose hard hands guide the plough, 
Who bend beneath the summer sun, 

With burning cheek and brow — 
Ye deem the curse still clings to earth 

From olden time till now — 
But while ye feel 'tis hard to toil 

And labor all day through, 
Remember it is harder still 

To have no work to do. 

Ho ! ye who plough the sea's blue field, 

Who ride the restless wave, 
Beneath whose gallant vessel's keel 

There lies a yawning grave, 
Around whose bark the wintry winds 

Like fiends of fury rave — 
Oh ! while ye feel 'tis hard to toil 

And labor long hours through, 
Remember it is harder still 

To have no work to do. 

Ho ! ye upon whose fevered cheeks 

The hectic glow is bright, 
Whose mental toil wears out the day 

And half the weary night ; 
Who labor for the souls of men, 

Champions of truth and right ; 
Although ye feel your toil is hard, 

Even with this glorious view, 
Remember it is harder still 

To have no work to do. 

Ho ! all who labor, all who strive, 

Ye wield a lofty power ; 
Do with your might, do with your strength, 

Fill every golden hour ! 
The glorious privilege to do, 

Is man's most noble dower. 



174 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Oh ! to your birthright and yourselves, 
To your own souls, be true ! 

A weary, wretched life is theirs, 
Who have no work to do. 



WHAT IS TIME ? 



I asked an aged man, with hoary hairs, 
Wrinkled and curved with worldly cares ; 
"Time is the warp of life," said he, " oh, tell 
The young, the fair, the gay, to weave it well ! " 
I asked the ancient, venerable dead, 
Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled ; 
From the cold grave a hollow murmur flowed, 
" Time sowed the seed we reap in this abode ! " 

I asked a dying sinner, ere the tide 

Of life had left his veins ; " Time ! " he replied ; 

II I've lost it ! ah, the treasure ! " — and he died. 
I asked the golden sun and silver spheres, 
Those bright chronometers of days and years ; 
They answered, " Time is but a meteor glare,*' 
And bade me for Eternity prepare. 

I asked the Seasons, in their annual round, 

Which beautify or desolate the ground ; 

And they replied (no oracle more wise), 

" 'Tis Folly's blank, and Wisdom's highest prize! " 

I asked a spirit lost, — but oh, the shriek 

That pierced my soul ! I shudder while I speak, 
It cried, " A particle ! a speck ! a mite 
Of endless years, duration infinite ! " 
Of things inanimate my dial I 
Consulted, and it made me this reply, — 

II Time is the season fair of living well, 
The path of glory or the path of hell." 

I asked my Bible, and methinks it said, 

II Time is the present hour, the past has fled ; 



BRUTUS'S ORATION. 175 

Live ! live to-day ! to-morrow never yet 

On any human being rose or set." 

I asked old Father Time himself at last ; 

But in a moment he flew swiftly past, 

His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind 

His noiseless steeds, which left no trace behind. 

I asked the mighty angel, who shall stand 
One foot on sea, and one on solid land ; 

II Mortal ! " he cried, the mystery now is o'er ; 
Time was, Time is, but time shall be no more ! " 



LUCIUS JUNIUS BKUTUS'S OEATION OVER 
THE BODY OF LUCRETIA. 

J. H. PAYNE. 

Would you know why I summoned you together 1 

Ask ye what brings me here 1 Behold this dagger, 

Clotted with gore ! Behold that frozen corse ! 

See where the lost Lucretia sleeps in death ! 

She was the mark and model of the time, 

The mould in which each female face was formed, 

The very shrine and sacristy of virtue ! 

Fairer than ever was a form created 

By youthful fancy when the blood strays wild, 

And never resting thought is all on fire ! 

The worthiest of the worthy ! Not the nymph 

Who met old Numa in his hallowed walks, 

And whispered in his ear her strains divine, 

Can I conceive beyond her; — the young choir 

Of vestal virgins bent to her. 'Tis wonderful 

Amid the darnel, hemlock, and base weeds, 

Which now spring rife from the luxurious compost 

Spread o*er the realm, how this sweet lily rose, — 

How from the shade of those ill-neighboring plants 

Her father sheltered her, that not a leaf 

Was blighted, but, arrayed in purest grace, 

She bloomed unsullied beauty. Such perfections 



176 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Might have called back the torpid breast of age 

To long-forgotten rapture ; such a mind 

Might have abashed the boldest libertine 

And turned desire to reverential love, 

And holiest affection! Oh, ray countrymen ! 

You all can witness when that she went forth 

It was a holiday in Rome ; old age 

Forgot its crutch, labor its task, — all ran, 

And mothers, turning to their daughters, cried, 

" There, there's Lucretia ! " Now, look ye, where she lies ! 

That beauteous flower, that innocent sweet rose, 

Torn up by ruthless violence — gone ! gone ! gone ! 

Say, would you seek instruction 1 would ye ask 
What ye should do ? Ask ye yon conscious walls, 
Which saw his poisoned brother, — 
Ask yon deserted street, where Tullia drove 
O'er her dead father's corse, 'twill cry, Revenge ! 
Ask yonder senate-house, whose stones are purple 
With human blood, and it will cry, Revenge ! 
Go to the tomb where lies his murdered wife, 
And the poor queen, who loved him as her son, 
Their unappeased ghosts will shriek, Revenge ! 
The temples of the gods, the all-viewing heavens, 
The gods themselves, shall justify the cry, 
And swell the general sound, Revenge ! Revenge ! 

And we wi.l be revenged, my countrymen ! 
Brutus shall lead you on ; Brutus, a name 
Which will, when you're revenged, be dearer to him 
Than all the noblest titles earth can boast. 

Brutus your king ! — No, fellow -citizens ! 
If mad ambition in this guilty frame 
Had strung one kingly fibre, yea, but one — 
By all the gods, this dagger which I hold 
Should rip it out, though it entwined my heart. 

Now take the body up. Bear it before us 
To Tarquin's palace ; there we'll light our torches, 
And in the blazing conflagration, rear 
A pile for these chaste relics, that shall send 
Her soul amongst the stars. On ! Brutus leads you ! 



WHAT IS THAT, MOTHER ? 177 



WHAT IS THAT, MOTHER? 

DOANE. 

What is that, mother 1 — 

The Lark, my child, — 
The morn has just looked out, and smiled, 
When he starts from his humble, grassy nest, 
And is up and away with the dew on his breast 
And a hymn in his heart, to yon pure bright sphere, 
To warble it out in his Maker's ear. 
Ever, my child, be thy morn's first lays 
Tuned, like the lark's, to thy Maker's praise. 

What is that, mother 1 — 

The Dove, my son, — 
And that low, sweet voice, like the widow's moan, 
Is flowing out from her gentle breast, 
Constant and pure, by that lonely nest, 
As the wave is poured from some crystal urn, 
For her distant dear one's quick return. 
Ever, my son, be thou like the dove — 
In friendship as faithful, as constant in love. 

What is that, mother 1 — 

The Eagle, boy, 
Proudly careering his course of joy, 
Firm, in his own mountain vigor relying, 
Breasting the dark storm, the red bolt defying ; 
His wing on the wind, and his eye on the sun, 
He swerves not a hair, but bears onward, right on. 
Boy, may the eagle's flight ever be thine, 
Onward and upward, true to the line. 

What is that, mother 1 — 

The Swan, my love, — 
He is floating down from his native grove, 
No loved one now, no nestling nigh ; 
He is floating down by himself to die. 



178 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Death darkens his eye, and unplumes his wings, 
Yet the sweetest song is the last he sings. 
Live so, my love, that when death shall come, 
Swan-like and sweet it may waft thee home. 



A COLLOQUY WITH MYSELF. 

BERNARD BARTON. 

As I walked by myself, I talked to myself, 

And myself replied to me ; 
And the questions myself then put to myself, 

With their answers, I give to thee. 
Put them home to thyself, and if unto thyself, 

Their responses the same should be, 
Oh ! look well to thyself, and beware of thyself, 

Or so much the worse for thee. 

What are Riches 1 Hoarded treasures 

May, indeed, thy coffers fill ; 
Yet, like earth's most fleeting pleasures, 

Leave thee poor and heartless still. 

What are Pleasures 1 When afforded 

But by gauds' which pass away, 
Read their fate in lines recorded 

On the sea-sands yesterday. 

What is Fashion ? Ask of Folly, 

She her worth can best express. 
What is moping Melancholy 1 

Go and learn of Idleness. 

What is Truth 1 Too stem a preacher 

For the prosperous and the gay ! 
But a safe and wholesome teacher 

In Adversity's dark day. 

What is Friendship ? If well founded, 
Like some beacon's heavenward glow ; 



A COLLOQUY WITH MYSELF. 179 

If on false pretensions grounded, 
Like the treacherous sand below. 

What is Love ? If earthly only, 

Like a meteor of the night ; 
Shining but to leave more lonely 

Hearts that hailed its transient light : 

But when calm, refined, and tender, 

Purified from passion's stain, 
Like the moon, in gentle splendor, 

Ruling o'er the peaceful main. 

What are Hopes, but gleams of brightness, 

Glancing darkest clouds between 7 
Or foam-crested waves, whose whiteness 

Gladdens ocean's darksome green. 

What are Fears 1 Grim phantoms, throwing 

Shadows o'er the pilgrim's way, 
Every moment darker growing, 

If we yield unto their sway. 

What is Mirth 1 A flash of lightning, 

Followed but by deeper gloom. 
Patience 1 More than sunshine brightening 

Sorrow's path, and labor's doom. 

What is Time 1 A river flowing 

To Eternity's vast sea, 
Forward, whither all are rowing, 

On its bosom bearing thee. 

What is Life 1 A bubble floating 

On that silent, rapid stream ; 
Few, too few, its progress noting, 

Till it bursts, and ends the dream. 

What is Death, asunder rending 
Every tie we love so well 1 



180 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

But the gate to life unending, 
Joy, in heaven ! or woe, in hell ! 

Can these truths, by repetition, 
Lose their magnitude or weight 1 

Estimate thine own condition, 
Ere thou pass that fearful gate. 

Hast thou heard them oft repeated, 
Much may still be left to do : 

Be not by profession cheated ; 

Live — as if thou knewest them true. 

As I walked by myself, I talked to myself, 

And myself replied to me ; 
And the questions myself then put to myself, 

With their answers, I've given to thee. 
Put them home to thyself, and if unto thyself 

Their responses the same should be, 
Oh ! look well to thyself, and beware of thyself, 

Or so much the worse for thee. 



SAINT PHILIP NEEI AND THE YOUTH. 

DR. BYKOM. 

Saint Philip Neri, as old readings say, 

Met a young stranger in Rome's streets one day ; 

And being ever courteously inclined 

To give young folks a sober turn of mind, 

He fell into discourse with him ; and thus 

The dialogue they held comes down to us. 

Saint. Tell me what brings you, gentle youth, to Rome 1 
Youth. To make myself a scholar, sir, I come. 
Saint. And. when you are one, what do you intend 1 
Youth. To be a priest, I hope, sir, in the end. 
Saint. Suppose it so — what have you next in view? 
Youth. That I may get to be a canon, too. 



THE CHAMELEON. 181 

Saint. Well j and how then 1 

Youth. Why, then, for aught I know, 

I may be made a bishop. 

Saint. Be it so— 

What then 1 

Youth. Why, cardinal's a high degree — ■ 

And yet my lot it possibly may be. 

Saint. Suppose it was, what then 1 

Youth. Why, who can say 

But I've a chance of being pope one day ] 

Saint. Well, having worn the mitre and red hat, 
And triple crown, what follows after that 1 

Youth. Nay, there is nothing further, to be sure, 
Upon this earth that wishing can procure : 
When I've enjoyed a dignity so high, 
As long as God shall please, then I must die. 

Saint. What ! must you die 1 fond youth ! and at the best 
But wish, and hope, and may be all the rest ! 
Take my advice — whatever may betide, 
For that which must be, first of all provide ; 
Then think of that which may be, and indeed, 
When well prepared, who knows what may succeed 1 
But you may be, as you are pleased to hope, 
Priest, canon, bishop, cardinal and pope. 



THE CHAMELEON. 

MEBBICX. 

Oft has it been my lot to mark 
A proud, conceited, talking spark, 
With eyes that hardly served at most 
To guard their master 'gainst a post ; 
Yet round the world the blade has been, 
To see whatever could be seen. 
Returning from his finished tour, 
Grown ten times perter than before ; 
Whatever word you chance to drop, 
The travelled fool your mouth will stop : 



182 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

" Sir, if my judgment you'll allow — 
I've seen — and sure I ought to know , '— 
So begs you'd pay a due submission, 
And acquiesce in his decision. 

Two travellers of such a cast, 
As o'er Arabia's wrHs they passed, 
And on their way, in friendly chat, 
Now talked of this, and then of that ; 
Discoursed awhile, 'mongst other matter, 
Of the Chameleon's form and nature. 
" A stranger animal," cries one, 
" Sure never lived beneath the sun : 
A lizard's body lean and long, 
A fish's head, a serpent's tongue, 
Its tooth with triple claw disjoined ; 
And what a length of tail behind ! 
How slow its pace ! and then its hue — 
Who ever saw so fine a blue 1 " 

M Hold there! " the other quick replies, 
11 'Tis green — I saw it wit:i these eyes, 
As late with open mouth it lay, 
And warmed it in the sunny ray ; 
Stretched at its ease the beast I viewed, 
And saw it eat the air for food." 

" I've seen it, sir, as well as you, 
And must again affirm it blue • 
At leisure I the beast surveyed, 
Extended in the cooling shade." 

11 'Tis green ! 'tis green, sir, I assure ye." 
" Green ! " cries the other, in a fury : 
" Why, sir, d'ye think I've lost my eyes 1 " 

14 'Twere no great loss," the friend replies ; 
" For if they always serve you thus, 
You'll find them but of little use." 

So high at last the contest rose, 
From words they almost came to blows : 
When luckily came by a third ; 
To him the question they referred ; 
And begged he'd tell them, if he knew, 



HENRY THE FOURTH'S SOLILOQUY ON SLEEP. 183 

Whether the thing was green or blue. 

" Sirs," cries the umpire, " cease your pother 
The creature's neither one nor t'other. 
I caught th^ animal last night, 
And viewed it o'er by candlelight : 

I marked it well — 'twas black as jet — 
You stare — but, sirs, I've got it yet, 
And can produce it." — " Pray, sir, do ; 
I'll lay my life the thing is blue." 

" And I'll be sworn, that, when you've seen 
The reptile, you'll pronounce him green." 

" Well, then, at once to ease the doubt,'' 
Replies the man, " I'll turn him out : 
And when before your eyes I've set him, 
If you don't find him black, 1 11 eat him," 

He said ; then full before their sight 
Produced the beast, and lo ! — 'twas white. 
Both stared, the man looked wondrous wise — 

II My children," the Chameleon cries 
(Then first the creature found a tongue); 
" You all are right, and all are wrong : 
When next you talk of what you view, 
Think others see as well as you : 

Nor wonder, if you find that none 
Prefers your eyesight to his own." 



HENBY THE FOURTH'S SOLILOQUY ON SLEEP. 



SHAKSPEARE. 



How many thousand of my poorest subjects 
Are at this hour asleep ! sleep, gentle sleep, 
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, 
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, 
And steep my senses in forgetfulness 1 
Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, 
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, 
And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, 



184 KECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Than in the perfumed chambers of the great, 

Under the canopies of costly state, 

And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody 1 

! thcu dull god, why liest thou with the vile, 

In loathsome beds ; and leav'st the kingly couch, 

A watch-case, or a common 'larum bell 1 

Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast 

Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains 

In cradle of the rude imperious surge, 

And in the visitation of the winds, 

Who take the ruffian billows by the top, 

Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them 

With deafening clamors in the slippery clouds, 

That with the hurly, death itself awakes 1 

Canst thou, partial sleep ! give thy repose 

To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude ; 

And, in the calmest and most stillest night, 

With all appliances and means to boot, 

Deny it to a king 7 Then, happy low-lie-down ! 

Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. 



ON PBOCBASTINATION. 

YOUNG. 

Be wise to-day; 'tis madness to defer; 
Next day the fatal precedent will plead ; 
Thus on, till wisdom is pushed out of life. 
Procrastination is the thief of time ; 
Year after year it steals, till all are fled, 
And to the mercies of a moment leaves 
The vast concerns of an eternal scene. 

Of man's miraculous mistakes this bears 
The palm, "That all men are about to live,'* 
For ever on the brink of being born. 
All pay themselves the compliment to think 
They one day shall not drivel ; and their pride 
On this reversion takes up ready praise : 
At least their own ; their future selves applaud : 



THE FLAG OF WASHINGTON. 185 

How excellent that life they ne'er will lead ! 

Time lodged in their own hands is Folly's vails ; 

That lodged in Fate's to wisdom they consign ; 

The thing they can't but purpose, they postpone, 

'Tis not in folly not to scorn a fool, 

And scarce in human wisdom to do more. 

All promise is poor dilatory man, 

And that through every stage. When young, indeed, 

In full content we sometimes nobly rest, 

Unanxious for ourselves, and only wish, 

As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise. 

At thirty man suspects himself a fool ; 

Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan ; 

At fifty chides his infamous delay, 

Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve ; 

In all the magnanimity of thought « - 

Resolves, and re-resolves ; then dies the same. 

And why 1 Because he thinks himself immortal. 
All men think all men mortal but themselves ; 
Themselves, when some alarming shock of fate 
Strikes through their wounded hearts the sudden dread ; 
But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air, 
Soon close ; where passed the shaft no trace is found, 
As from the wing no scar the sky retains, 
The parted wave no furrow from the keel, 
So dies in human hearts the thought of death. 
Even with the tender tears which nature sheds 
O'er those we love, we drop it in their grave. 



THE FLAG OF WASHINGTON. 

F. W. GILLETT. 

Dear banner of my native land ! ye gleaming, silver stars, 
Broad, spotless ground of purity, crossed with your azure bars — 
Clasped by the hero-father 7 s hand — watched over in his might, 
Through battle-hour and day of peace, bright morn and moonless 
night, 



186 RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 

Because, within your clustering folds, he knew you surely bore 
Dear Freedom's hope for human souls to every sea and shore ! 
precious Flag ! beneath whose folds such noble deeds are done — 
The dear old Flag ! the starry Flag ! the Flag of Washington ! 

Unfurl, bright stripes — shine forth, clear stars — swing outward to 

the breeze — 
Go bear your message to the wilds — go tell it on the seas, 
That poor men sit within your shade, and rich men in their pride — 
That beggar-boys and statesmen's sons walk 'neath you, side by 

side ; 
You guard the school-house on the green, the church upon the hill, 
And fold your precious blessings round the cabin by the rill, 
While weary hearts from every land beneath the shining sun 
Find w T ork, and rest, and home beneath the Flag of Washington. 

And never, never on the earth, however brave they be, 

Shall friends or foes bear down this great, proud standard of the 

Free, 
Though they around its staff may pour red blood in rushing waves, 
And build beneath its starry folds great pyramids of graves ; 
For God looks out, with sleepless eye, upon his children's deeds, 
And sees, through all their good and ill, their sufferings and their 

needs ; 
And He will watch, and He will keep, till human rights have won ; 
The dear old Flag ! the starry Flag ! the Flag of Washington ! 



TESTIMONIALS. 



From Prof. J. F. N. STANDI SH, A.M., late President of the Illinois State 
Teachers'' Association. 

n * * * While here Mr. F. B. Wilson has taught several classes in 
Elocution, and with great success. From his large experience in teaching 
this important branch of education, it is "with pleasure I recommend him to 
public confidence." 

Galesbubg, III., June 21, 1866, 



From Rev. James H. HEREON, A.M., President of Springfield Female College 

Ohio. 

" It gives me pleasure to say that I think the young ladies of this institu- 
tion have derived substantial advantage from the instruction of Mr. Wilson. 
Apbil 10, 1867. 



From J. C. SMALL, LL.B., President Business College, Zanesville, Ohio. 

" Mr. F. B. Wilson has given several lectures and readings to our students 
with entire satisfaction. I regard him as thoroughly competent to teach 
elocution, and take pleasure in recommending him to the confidence of the 
public." 

May 10, 1867. 



From Rev. J. P. WESTON, D.D., President of Lombard University, Galesburg^ 

Illinois. 

" This may certify that Mr. F. B. Wilson, of New York, has, during the 
past term, given instruction in Lombard University to a class in elocution, 
very much to my satisfaction and to the profit of the class. I cheerfully 
commend him to public confidence and patronage." 

June 21, 1866. 

187 



188 TESTIMONIALS. 

From Rev. SAMUEL SPEECHER, D.D., President of Wittenberg College, Ohio, 

M It gives me pleasure to say that Prof. Wilson has fulfilled his engage- 
ment as a teacher of Elocution in our institution in a very satisfactory man- 
ner. The class seem to have been greatly pleased and benefitted by his 
instructions. I think we have never been visited by a more successful teacher 
of Elocution." 

May 31, 1867. 



From Rev. J. L. RODGERS, A.M., Principal of Springfield Female Seminary, 

Ohio. 

" Prof. F. B. Wilson has taught a class in Elocution in the Springfield 
Female Seminary with excellent success. I regard him as well qualified to 
give instruction in Elocution." 

April 5, 1867. 



From Rev. DAVID PAUL, A.M., President of MusJcingum College, New Concord, 

Ohio. 

" Prof. Wilson has lately visited Muskingum College and taught a class in 
Elocution. It affords me pleasure to say that I believe he has given much 
substantial and valuable instruction. His enthusiasm in his profession 
promises complete success ; and his social disposition and moral character 
render him worthy of public confidence and patronage." 

May 6, 1867. 



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Bound in cloth, gilt side 75 cts. 

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Wilson's Book of Recitations and Dialogues. With In- 
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command a large sale on account of its real merit. It is crammed full of 
Comic Poetry, Laughable Lectures, Irish and Dutch Stories, Yankee Yarns, 
Negro Burlesques, Short Dramatic Scenes, Humorous Dialogues, and all 

kinds of Funny Speeches. Paper cover 30 cts. 

Bound in boards, cloth back 50 Cts. 



The Parlor Stage. A Collection of Drawing-Room Pro- 
verbs, Charades and Tableaux Yivants. By Miss S. A. Frost. The authoress 
of this attractive volume has performed her task with skill, talent, and we 
might say, with genius ; for the Acting Charades and Proverbs are really 
minor dramas of a high order of merit. There are twenty-four of them, and 
fourteen tableaux, all of which are excellent. The characters are admirably 
drawn, well contrasted, and the plots and dialogues much better than those 
of many popular pieces performed at the public theatres. Any parlor with 
folding or sliding doors is suitable for their representation (or, if there are 
no sliding or folding doors, a temporary curtain will answer) . The dresses are 
all those of modern society, and the scenery and properties can be easily 
provided from the resources of almost any family residence in town or coun- 
try. The book is elegantly got up, and we commend it heartily to young 
gentlemen and ladies who wish to beguile the long winter evenings with a 
species of amusement at once interesting, instructive, and amusing. 368 
pages, small octavo, cloth, gilt side and back, beveled edges. Price. ..$1 50 



The Parlor Magician ; or, One Hundred Trlcfo for the Draw 

trig-Room, containing an Extensive and Miscellaneous Collection of Con- 
juring and Legerdemain ; Sleights with Dice, Dominoes, Cards, Ribbons, 
Kings, Fruit, Coin, Balls, Handkerchiefs, etc., allot" which may be performed 
in the Parlor or Drawing- Room, without the aid of any apparatus ; also 
embracing a choice variety of Curious Deceptions, which may be performed 
with the aid of simple apparatus ; the whole illustrated and clearly ex- 
plained with 121 engravings. Paper Covers. Price 30 cts. 

Bound in boards, with cloth back 50 cts» 



Book of Riddles and Five Hundred Home Amusements. 

Containing a Choice and Curious Collection of Riddles, Charades, Enigmas, 
Rebuses, Anagrams, Transpositions, Conundrums, Amusing Puzzles, Queer 
Sleights, Recreations in Arithmetic, Fireside Games and Natural Magic, 
embracing Entertaining Amusements in Magnetism, Chemistry, Second 
Sight and Simple Recreations in Science for Family and Social Pastime, il- 
lustrated with sixty Engravings. Paper covers. Price 30 cts. 

Bound in Boards, with cloth back 50 cts. 



Book Of Fireside Games, Containing an Explanation of the 
most Entertaining Games suited to the Family Crcle as a Recreation, such 
as games of Action, Games which merely requiio attention, Games which 
require memory, Catch Games, which have for their objects Tricks or Mysti- 
fication, Games in which an opportunity is afforded to display Gallantry, 
Wit, or some flight knowledge of certain Sciences, Amusing ^Forfeits, Fire- 
side Games for Winter Evening Amusement, etc. 

Paper Covers. Price 30 cts. 

Bound in boards, with cloth back 50 cts. 



Parlor Theatricals ; or, Winter Evenings' Entertainment Con- 
taining Acting Proverbs, Dramatic Charades, Acting Charades, or Draw- 
ing-Room Pantomimes, Musical Burlesques, Tableaux Vivants, etc. ; with 
Instructions for Amateurs ; how to Construct a Stage and Curtain ; how to 
get up Costumes and Properties ; on the " Making up " of Characters ; 
Exits and Entrances ; how to arrange Tableaux, etc. Illustrated with 

Engravings. Paper covers 30 cts. 

Bound in boards, cloth back 50 Cts. 



The Book of 500 Curious Puzzles. Containing a large col- 
lection of entertaining Paradoxes, Perplexing Deception in numbers, and 
Amusing Tricks in Geometry. By the author of " The Sociable," " The Se- 
cret Out," " The Magician's Own Book." Illustrated with a great variety 
of Engravings. This book will have a large sale. It will furnish fun and 

amusement for a whole winter. Paper covers. Price 30 cts. 

Bound in boards, with cloth back 50 cts. 

The above five books are compiled from the " Sociable " and " Magician's 
Own." 

The Young Reporter ; or, How to Write Short-Hand. A com- 
plete Phonographic Teacher, intended to afford thorough instruction to 
those who have not the assistance of an Oral Teacher. By the aid of this 
work, any person of the most ordinary intelligence may learn to write Short- 
Hand, and Report Speeches and Sermons in a short time. Bound in boards, 
with cloth back. Price 50 cts. 



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Treatment Date: Nov. 2007 

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